E605 

.Y7 

1918 

c.l 

Igssg* 


Reminiscences  of  a 

Soldier  of  the 
Orphan    Brigade 


By  LIEUT.  L.   D.  YOUNG, 


Paris,    Kentucky 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 


FROM  THE  LIBRARY  OF 

ALEXANDER  B.  ANDREWS 

Class  of  1893 

TRUSTEE  OF  THE  UNIVERSITY 

FRIEND  OF  THE  LIBRARY 


iVERSITVOFN-C 


AT  CHAPEL  ^"-j- 


llllgflf 


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Reminiscences  of  a  Soldier 
of  the  Orphan  Brigade 

By  LIEUT.  L.  D.  YOUNG 

Paris,  Kentucky 


To  Those  Who  Wore  the  Gray  and  to  Their  Children 

and  Children's  Children,  This  Booklet 

is  Dedicated. 


The  Richard  Hawes  Chapter  of  the  Daughters 
of  the  Confederacy  warmly  recommends  Col.  L. 
D.  Young's  "Reminiscences  of  the  Orphan  Bri- 
gade" as  a  most  tvorthy  addition  to  the  literature 
of  the  South. 

It  is  an  interesting  recital  of  the  authors  per- 
sonal experiences  and  contains  much  valuable 
historic  information. 

The  Chapter  commends  Mr.  Young,  a  splendid 
Christian  gentleman — a  gallant  Confederate  sol- 
dier— to  all  lovers  of  history — and  especially  to 
the  brave  soldiers  of  the  present  great  war. 


• 


763120 


THE  ORPHAN   BRIGADE. 
By  Prof.  N.  S.  Shaler  of  the  Federal  Army. 

Eighteen  hundred  and  sixty-one: 
There  in  the  echo  of  Sumter's  gun 
Marches  the  host  of  the  Orphan  Brigade, 
Lit  by  their  banners,  in  hope's  best  arrayed. 
Five  thousand  strong,  never  legion  hath  borne 
Might  as  this  bears  it  forth  in  that  morn: 
Hastings  and  Crecy,  Naseby,  Dunbar, 
Cowpens  and  Yorktown,  Thousand  Years'  War, 
Is  writ  on  their  hearts  as  onward  afar 
They  shout  to  the  roar  of  their  drums. 

Eighteen  hundred  and  sixty-two: 

Well  have  they  paid  to  the  earth  its  due. 

Close  up,  steady!  the  half  are  yet  here 

And  all  of  the  might,  for  the  living  bear 

The  dead  in  their  hearts  over  Shiloh's  field — 

Rich,  O  God,  is  thy  harvest's  yield! 

Where  faith  swings  the  sickle,  trust  binds  the  sheaves, 

To  the  roll  of  the  surging  drums. 

Eighteen  hundred  and  sixty-three: 

Barring  Sherman's  march  to  the  sea — 

Shorn  to  a  thousand;  face  to  the  foe 

Back,  ever  back,  but  stubborn  and  slow. 

Nineteen  hundred  wounds  they  take 

In  that  service  of  Hell,  yet  the  hills  they  shake 

With  the  roar  of  their  charge  as  onward  they  go 

To  the  roar  of  their  throbbing  drums. 

Eighteen  hundred  and  sixty-four: 

Their  banners  are  tattered,  and  scarce  twelve  score, 

Battered  and  wearied  and  seared  and  old, 

Stay  by  the  staves  where  the  Orphans  hold 

Firm  as  a  rock  when  the  surges  break — 

Shield  of  a  land  where  men  die  for  His  sake, 

For  the  sake  of  the  brothers  whom  they  have  laid  low, 

To  the  roll  of  their  muffled  drums. 

Eighteen  hundred  and  sixty-five: 

The  Devil  is  dead  and  the  Lord  is  alive, 

In  the  earth  that  springs  where  the  heroes  sleep, 

And  in  love  new  born  where  the  stricken  weep. 

That  legion  hath  marched  past  the  setting  of  sun: 

Beaten?  nay,  victors:   the  realms  they  have  won 

Are  the  hearts  of  men  who  forever  shall  hear 

The  throb  of  their  far-off  drums. 


INTRODUCTION. 

CHAPTER  I. 

It  is  for  the  amusement  and  entertainment  of  the  thou- 
sands of  young  Kentuckians  now  enlisted  beneath  the 
Stars  and  Stripes  in  the  world  cataclysm  of  war  for  the 
cause  of  humanity  and  righteousness  that  these  recollec- 
tions and  reminiscences  are  published.  The  author  believ- 
ing they  will  enable  the  "boys"  to  pass  what  might  other- 
wise be  at  times  lonesome  and  monotonous  hours. 

And  while  refused  by  the  Secretary  of  War  ( by  reason 
of  age)  the  opportunity  to  participate  in  the  great  struggle 
now  raging,  it  is  his  province  now  only  to  watch  their 
career,  to  pray  for  them  and  their  success,  for  their  suc- 
cessful and  triumphant  return. 

And  by  reason  of  his  experience  as  a  soldier  he  can 
enter  into  fully  their  aspirations  and  ambitions  and  share 
their  hopes,  rejoice  in  their  victories  and  their  triumphs. 
He  understands  the  dread  suspense  of  the  impending  con- 
flict, the  thrill  and  shock  of  battle,  the  victorious  shout, 
the  gloom  and  chagrin  of  defeat,  the  pangs  of  hunger  and 
suffering  from  wounds  and  disease — for  he  has  seen  war 
in  all  its  horrors. 

And  he  knows  that  when  the  supreme  moment  comes 
that  Kentucky  blood  will  assert  itself ;  that  her  traditional 
honor  will  be  upheld,  her  renown  glorified  anew. 

He  knows  that  these  inspirations  will  insure  steadi- 
ness of  step,  strength  of  arm  and  force  of  stroke. 

He  rejoices  that  the  ever  assertive  blood  of  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  flows  through  the  veins  of  these  young  Ken- 
tuckians, ready  at  all  times  and  under  all  circumstances 
to  be  dedicated  to  the  cause  of  humanity  and  righteous- 
ness. 

As  will  be  readily  seen,  at  the  time  of  the  writing  of 
these  chapters,  there  was  no  thought  of  the  great  war  in 


6  The  Orphan  Brigade. 

which  the  world  is  now  engulfed  and  it  was  mainly  a  work 
of  pastime  and  personal  satisfaction  that  they  were  then 
written  and  published.  But  the  suggestion  has  been  made 
that  if  published  in  suitable  form  for  distribution  and 
donated  by  friends  to  the  Kentucky  boys  now  in  service 
that  it  might  be  appreciated  by  the  boys  "over  there," 
some  of  whom  are  doubtless  the  sons  or  grandsons  of  those 
who  composed  this  little  band  of  "immortals"  and  who 
contributed  so  much  to  Kentucky's  history  in  the  unfortu- 
nate fratricidal  conflict  of  almost  sixty  years  ago.  Thank 
God  that  the  animosities  of  that  unhappy  period  have 
long  since  been  banished,  and  there  is  now  but  one 
thought,  one  aim,  animating  the  hearts  and  minds  of  these 
sons  and  grandsons,  viz.,  the  overthrow  of  autocracy  and 
the  avenging  of  the  outrages  of  the  Huns — and  a  readjust- 
ment and  regeneration  of  the  relationship  and  affairs  of 
men. 

In  the  changed  conditions  that  confront  us  today  we 
see  the  history  of  the  Commonwealth  being  absorbed  by 
the  Nation  and  almost  imperceptibly  blended  into  a 
Nationalized,  Americanized  whole. 

And  whatever  of  history  the  sons  of  the  Commonwealth 
achieve  in  the  great  war  will  be  accredited  to  the  nation 
America,  and  not  Kentucky.  And  recognizing  this  unifica- 
tion as  a  fixed  policy  of  our  government,  the  writer  takes 
advantage  of  the  opportunity  in  this  little  booklet  (lest 
we  forget)  to  individualize  and  compliment  the  magnif- 
icent record  of  that  little  band  of  Kentuckians,  known 
in  history  as  the  "Orphan  Brigade"  and  whose  achieve- 
ments form  one  of  the  most  brilliant  chapters  in  the  his- 
tory of  the  State  and  Nation.  Hence  the  publication  of 
this  booklet.  The  writer  does  not  for  a  moment  stop  to 
criticise  the  wisdom  of  this  change  (from  the  volunteer 
to  the  conscript  system)  and  he  hopes  he  may  be  pardoned 
for  expressing  pride  in  Kentucky's  unexcelled  past  his- 
tory. Henceforth  it  will  not  be  what  Kentucky  or  Ohio 
accomplished — in  war,  but  what  the  Nation,  unified  Amer- 


The  Orphan  Brigade.  7 

ica,  accomplished.     It  will  now  be  "liberty  enlightening" 
and  leading  the  world. 

Then  let  the  battle  rage  and  onward  move, 

Count  not  the  cost  nor  falter  in  the  breach, 

God,  the  Great  Commander,  wields  the  righteous  wand, 

And  bids  you  His  Love  the  tyrant  teach. 

When  that  shall  have  been  accomplished  (should  the 
author  be  living)  he  will  be  tempted  to  exclaim  in  the  lan- 
guage of  old  Moses  when  from  Mt.  Nebo  he  beheld  the 
land  of  Canaan  and  exclaimed  "Now  Lord,  I  am  ready." 

In  writing  these  recollections  and  reminiscences  he  has 
aimed  as  much  as  possible  to  avoid  aspersions,  reflections 
and  criticisms  and  confine  himself  to  a  personal  knowl- 
edge, which,  of  course,  was  more  or  less  limited,  because 
of  the  restricted  sphere  of  his  activities  and  operations. 
But  he  assures  the  "boys"  that  his  stories,  while  not 
classic,  are  substantially  true.  He  could  not  afford  to, 
at  his  advanced  age,  attempt  to  misrepresent  or  deceive, 
and  he  hopes  the  reader  will  excuse  any  irregularities  in 
the  order  of  publication  in  book  form  for,  as  previously 
stated,  that  was  not  originally  contemplated. 

In  comparing  conditions  and  surroundings  of  that  day 
with  those  of  the  soldier  of  today,  we  find  them  so  rad- 
ically different  as  to  be  incomparable.  And  for  this  the 
soldier  of  today  should  be  truly  thankful,  since  in  the 
case  of  these  isolated  Kentuckians — none  of  whom  could 
communicate  with  friends  and  receive  a  message  or  word 
of  cheer  from  the  dear  ones  at  home,  circumstances  today 
are  so  very,  very  different.  And  while  you  are  called  upon 
to  meet  and  face  many  and  more  trying  dangers,  because 
of  the  new  and  more  modern  instruments  of  war,  you  are 
in  many  ways  much  better  provided  for  than  were  your 
sires  and  grandsires.  Now  when  sick  or  wounded  you 
have  every  attention  that  modern  skill  and  science  can 
command.  You  have  also  the  angelic  help  and  ministra- 
tions of  that  greatest  of  all  help  and  comfort,  the  Red 


8  The  Orphan  Brigade. 

Cross,  and  many  other  sources  of  help  and  aid  that  the 
soldiers  of  the  past  did  not  have. 

So  that  while  the  dangers  may  be  greater,  the  casual- 
ties more  numerous,  relief  has  multiplied  proportionately. 
And  you  are  today  soldiers  engaged  in  war  which  has  the 
same  meaning  it  has  always  had.  Because  of  the  gloom 
and  sorrow  that  now  enshrouds  the  world,  it  would  be 
well  if  we  could  forget  the  past — for  the  events  of  today 
are  but  a  portrayal  of  the  past,  a  renewal  of  man's  "inhu- 
manity to  man."  But  it  has  been  so  decreed  by  Him  who 
"moves  in  a  mysterious  way  His  wonders  to  perform,  Who 
plants  His  footsteps  in  the  sea  and  rides  upon  the  storm." 

And  let  us  hope — as  many  believe — that  out  of  "Much 
tribulation  cometh  great  joy."  If  it  were  not  for  a  great 
and  wise  purpose,  how  could  it  be?  It  is  God's  will  and 
submission  to  His  will  is  man's  only  choice. 

So  let  your  spirits  as  they  rise  and  fall, 
Ever  cling  to  the  Faith  that  Eight  will  prevail, 
That  God  will  be  with  you  to  the  end  and  is  all  in  all, 
And  no  foeman,  freedom's  banner  shall  assail. 

It  is  at  the  instance  of  the  Richard  Hawes  Chapter  of 
the  U.  D.  C.  chiefly  that  the  writer  of  these  recollections 
and  reminiscences  has  collected  and  published  them. 

If  in  contributing  this  history  of  experiences  and  recol- 
lections he  shall  give  in  any  degree  pleasure  and  furnish 
entertainment  to  the  "dear  Kentucky  boys"  over  the  seas 
he  shall  feel  happy  to  have  had  that  privilege  and  oppor- 
tunity. 

He  assures  them  that  none  more  sincerely,  more 
prayerfully  hopes  for  their  safe  and  triumphant  return. 
He  knows  that  this  triumph  will  be  the  grandest  chapter 
in  the  world's  history  and  that  America  will  have  played 
her  part  gloriously  in  the  grand  tragedy. 

Oh !  that  he  could  be  one  of  the  actors ! 

Then  will  the  dark  and  gloomy  days  of  your  absence 
hallowed  by  the  blood   of   your   lost  comrades  be  made 


The  Orphan  Brigade.  9 

glorious  by  a  triumphant  return,  the  like  of  which  the 
world  has  never  before  seen  nor  never  will  see  again. 

Then  will  every  hilltop  and  mountain  peak  blaze  with 
the  bonfires  of  a  glorious  greeting. 

Then  will  the  dear  old  mother's  heart  thrill  with  joy 
and  happiness,  then  will  the  old  father  say  "Welcome! 
Welcome!  my  dear  boy,  I  knew  you  would  come."  Then 
too  will  she  who  promised,  watched,  hoped  and  prayed 
be  found  seeking  the  opportunity  to  say  "I  am  now  ready 
to  redeem  my  promise." 

Then  will  the  old  soldier  (God  permitting  him  to  live) 
who  dedicates  these  lines  extend  the  glad  hand  of  greet- 
ing to  the  noble  boys  of  his  acquaintance  and  say,  "well 
done  ye  noble  sons !  I  rejoice  in  your  achievements,  your 
victories,  your  triumphs. 

"Welcome,  thrice  welcome,  and  again  welcome,  God 
smiles  and  the  land  is  yours.  Let  justice  and  righteous- 
ness prevail  now,  henceforth  and  forever." 

It  is  conceivable  that  forty  or  fifty  years  hence  some 
of  these  soldier  boys  now  participating  in  the  great  war 
will  find  themselves  wandering  over  these  fields  upon 
which  the  greatest  tragedies  in  the  world's  history  are  now 
being  enacted,  and  it  is  in  full  comprehension  (because 
of  similar  experiences)  that  the  writer  can  extend  the 
imaginations  of  the  mind  to  that  time. 

It  will  be  for  him,  who  may  be  so  fortunate,  a  glorious 
day,  a  thrilling  and  inspiring  reminiscence.  To  be  one  of 
the  actors  in  this  stupendous  tragedy  in  the  history  and 
affairs  of  the  world;  to  see,  to  participate  in  and  realize 
these  grand  events  is  to  see  things  that  have  heretofore 
seemed  impossible,  or  inconceivable. 

But  the  times  are  full  of  wonders  and  amazements, 
and  things  are  happening  faster  and  faster  day  by  day. 

If  the  early  history  of  the  writer,  read  before  the  U. 
D.  C.'s,  contains  matter  that  would  seem  more  appropriate 
for  a  novel,  because  of  its  romantic  character  he  justifies 
himself  by  saying  that  "youth  is  full  of  romance"  and  he 


10  The  Orphan  Brigade. 

believes,  yea  he  knows,  that  many  a  brave  boy  today  feels 
the  impulse  and  touch  of  these  thoughts  and  suggestions 
— and  not  alone  the  soldier  boy,  but  the  modest,  timid, 
retiring  maiden  whose  heart  quavered  when  she  said  good- 
bye. 


CHAPTEE  II. 

(An  address  delivered  at  Paris,  Ky.,  June  26,  1916.) 

Madame  President,  Ladies,  Daughters  of  the  Confederacy: 

I  have  several  times  promised  your  ex-president,  Mrs. 
Leer,  that  I  would  furnish  her  with  a  brief  history  of  my 
observations  and  experiences  as  a  soldier,  and  have  so  far 
failed ;  but  will  now,  ere  it  is  too  late,  try  to  comply  with 
this  promise. 

But  for  the  life  of  me  I  cannot  see  how  I  shall  comply 
with  this  request  without  (seemingly  at  least)  appearing 
in  the  role  of  one  given  to  self  praise  or  eulogy,  and,  mod- 
est man  that  I  am,  I  hesitate ;  this  will  explain  why  I  have 
been  so  long  complying  with  your  request,  and  shall  con- 
stitute my  apology. 

The  history  of  Kentucky  Confederates  was  in  most 
instances  very  similar  and  their  duties  likewise  similar. 
All  were  imbued  with  the  spirit  of  patriotism  and  love 
for  the  cause  in  which  they  had  engaged,  each  determined 
to  do  whatever  he  could  to  promote  and  advance  the  cause 
in  which  he  was  enlisted.  In  this  I  claim  to  have  done 
no  more  than  other  Kentucky  soldiers  who  fought  under 
the  "Stars  and  Bars." 

And  yet  there  may  be  some  incidents,  some  experiences 
in  my  history  so  different  from  others  as  to  make  them 
somewhat  interesting  by  contrast,  and  as  others  have 
kindly  furnished  you  with  a  history  of  their  experience, 
you  may  be  somewhat  interested  in  making  comparisons. 

Now,  so  far  as  relates  to  my  history  as  a  real  soldier, 
the  beginning  of  that  career  was  on  the  8th  of  September, 
1861.  On  the  22d  of  January  following  I  was  twenty 
years  old — quite  a  youth  you  are  ready  to  say.  But  I  had 
been  a  soldier  almost  two  years,  being  a  charter  member 
of  that  little  band  of  "Sunday"  soldiers— the  "Flat  Kock 
Grays" — and  which  constituted  an  integral  part  of  what 

(11) 


12  The  Orphan  Brigade. 

was  known  at  that  time  as  the  Kentucky  "State  Guard." 
This  little  company  of  citizen  soldiers  were  in  their 
conceit  and  imagination  very  important  and  consequen- 
tial fellows.  Invited  to  all  the  noted  gatherings  and  pub- 
lic affairs  of  the  day,  dressed  in  gaudy  and  flashy  uniforms 
and  flying  plumes,  filled  with  pride  and  conceit,  they  did 
not  know  they  were  nursing  their  pride  against  the  day 
of  wrath.  One  only  of  two  now  living,  I  look  back  upon 
those  days  and  scenes  of  youthful  pride  and  ambition,  with 
a  feeling  of  awe  and  reminiscence,  and  wonder  why  and 
wherefore  have  I  been  spared  through  the  labyrinth  of 
time  elapsed  and  for  what,  alas!     I  am  wondering. 

The  most  of  the  "Grays"  left  home  for  the  scenes  of 
the  war  in  August,  but  I  had  not  completed  my  arrange- 
ments and  did  not  reach  "Camp  Burnett,"  Tennessee, 
until  September  7.  Now  the  most  trying  and  impressing 
circumstances  of  these  preparations  was  the  last  "good- 
bye" to  my  dear  old  mother  and  sweetheart,  both  of  whom 
survived  the  war;  the  dear  old  mother  greeting  me  on  my 
return  in  a  manner  I  shall  leave  to  the  imagination  of  you 
ladies  to  describe.  I  was  her  "baby"  and  had  been 
mourned  as  lost  more  than  once.  But  the  sweetheart  in 
the  meantime  had  become  the  wife  of  another  and  gone 
to  a  distant  state  to  make  her  home.  Oh !  the  fickleness  of 
woman  and  the  uncertainties  of  war.  Pardon  me,  ladies, 
I  mean  no  reflection,  but  it  hurts  to  this  day;  yet  God  in 
His  wisdom  and  goodness  knows  I  forgave  her.  Perhaps 
schoolday  love  is  remembered  and  still  lingers  in  the  heart 
of  some  of  those  I  am  addressing,  then  she,  at  least,  can 
appreciate  this  sentiment. 

The  6th  of  September  found  me  in  this  town  (Paris, 
Ky. ) ,  where  I  began  preparations  for  the  life  of  a  soldier, 
by  substituting  my  "pumps"  for  "Brogans,"  which  I  knew 
would  be  more  suitable,  really  indispensable  for  a  soldier 
on  the  march  over  rough  and  rugged  roads.  I  sent  back 
home  my  pumps  and  horse,  the  latter  afterward  con- 
fiscated and  appropriated  by  the  Yanks.     Now  I  am  sure 


The  Orphan  Brigade.  13 

my  brogans  presented  a  striking  and  ludicrous  contrast 
to  my  "clawhammer"  blue  broadcloth  and  gold  buttons, 
and  to  which  I  shall  have  occasion  to  refer  again.  But  I 
was  going  to  the  war  and  why  should  I  care  for  comment 
or  criticism?  That  night  found  me  in  Louisville,  a  shy, 
cringing  guest  of  the  old  Louisville  Hotel,  my  brogans 
giving  me  more  concern  than  anything  else,  being  in  such 
striking  contrast  to  my  clawhammer  broadcloth  and  gold 
buttons.  I  recall  the  scenes  of  that  night  and  next  morn- 
ing with  a  distinctness  that  makes  me  almost  shudder  to 
this  day.  If  it  were  possible  for  you  ladies  to  imagine  the 
excitement  of  those  days,  filled  with  the  thousands  of  excit- 
ing rumors  that  were  heard  every  hour  in  the  day,  turn  in 
whatever  direction  you  might,  and  the  clangor  and  prep- 
aration for  war,  you  might  have  some  idea  of,  and  appre- 
ciate, my  predicament.  A  solitary  country  boy,  who  had 
seen  but  little  of  the  world,  on  his  road  South  in  quest  of 
Southern  rights  on  the  field  of  battle.  Were  it  not  fraught 
with  fearful  recollections  it  would  now  seem  ridiculous. 
But  the  night  was  spent,  not  in  sleep,  but  in  wild  imagin- 
ings as  to  the  outcome  on  the  morrow  and  what  the  morn- 
ing would  develop.  Morning  came  and  with  reddened 
eyes  and  unsteady  step,  I  came  down  the  winding  stairs 
of  the  old  hotel,  my  mind  filled  with  fearful  misgivings. 
Going  up  to  the  office  shyly  I  began  instinctively  to  turn 
the  leaves  of  the  register ;  imagine  my  surprise  when  I  read 
the  names  of  Generals  W.  T.  Sherman,  L.  J.  Rousseau, 
Major  Anderson  of  Fort  Sumter  fame  and  other  Federal 
officers,  aides  and  orderlies,  who  were  stopping  there ;  that 
humbug  Kentucky  "neutrality"  no  longer  being  observed, 
I  was  now  almost  ready  to  call  on  the  Lord  to  save  me. 
But  my  fears  were  intensified  when  a  gentleman  of  middle 
age,  whom  I  had  noticed  eyeing  me  closely,  walked  across 
the  room,  putting  his  hand  on  my  shoulder  and  asked  me 
to  a  corner  of  the  room.  "Angels  and  ministers  of  grace 
defend  me" — in  the  hands  of  a  detective.  I'm.  gone  now! 
Noticing  my  look  of  fear  and  trepidation,  he  said,  "Com- 


14  The  Orphan  Brigade. 

pose  yourself  young  man,  I  am  your  friend — the  shoes 
you  wear  (Oh,  the  tell-tale  shoes!  Why  didn't  I  keep  my 
pumps)  lead  me  to  believe  you  meditate  joining  the  army, 
and  if  I  am  not  mistaken  you  are  aiming  to  go  South  to 
join  the  Confederates."  I  was  now  halting  between  two 
opinions;  was  he  aiming  to  have  me  commit  myself,  or 
was  he  really  a  friend?  But  proceeding,  he  said,  "It  is 
but  natural  you  should  suspect  me,  but  I  am  your  friend 
nevertheless,  and  am  here  to  advise  and  assist  young  men 
like  you  in  getting  through  the  lines  (a  somewhat  calmer 
feeling  came  over  me  now)  and  you  will  have  to  be  very 
cautious,  for  I  fear  your  brogans  are  a  tell-tale — (I  had 
already  realized  that).  You  see,"  said,  he,  "excitement 
is  running  high  and  almost  everybody  is  under  suspicion, 
myself  with  others."  I  ventured  to  ask  his  name,  which 
he  readily  gave  me  as  Captain  Coffee  of  Tennessee,  to  me 
a  very  singular  name. 

Feeling  sure  of  his  man  and  continuing,  he  said,  "The 
train  that  leaves  here  this  morning  will  likely  be  the  last 
for  the  state  line  (and  sure  enough  it  was)  and  you  will 
find  excitement  running  high  at  the  station;  they  have 
guards  to  examine  all  passengers  and  their  baggage,  and 
when  you  reach  the  station  go  straight  to  the  ticket  office, 
secure  your  ticket  and  go  to  the  rear  of  the  train.  Go  in 
and  take  the  first  vacant  seat  and  for  Heaven's  sake,  if 
possible,  hide  your  brogans,  for  I  fear  they  may  tell  on 
you."  I  had  by  this  time  become  thoroughly  convinced 
that  he  was  really  my  friend  and  decided  to  take  his 
advice. 

But  now  the  climax  to  the  situation  was,  as  I  thought, 
about  to  be  reached.  Looking  toward  the  winding  stairs 
I  saw  coming  down  them  (Coffee  told  me  who  they  were) 
dressed  in  their  gaudy  regimentals  (the  regulation  blue 
and  gold  lace),  Generals  W.  T.  Sherman  and  L.  J.  Rous- 
seau, side  by  side,  arm  in  arm,  behind  them  the  short, 
chubby  figure  of  Major  Anderson  of  Fort  Sumter  fame 
and  some  other  prominent  officers  whose  names  I  have 


The  Orphan  Brigade.  15 

forgotten,  accompanied  by  their  staff  officers  and  order- 
lies. A  "pretty  kettle  of  fish"  for  me  to  be  caught  with — I 
thought.  They  passed  into  the  dining  room  immediately. 
I  shall  never  forget  the  hook-nose,  lank,  lean  and  hungry 
look  of  General  Sherman,  reminding  me  of  Julius  Caesar's 
description  of  Cassius.  Later  on  I  was  often  reminded  of 
this  incident,  when  Sherman  was  pushing  us  through 
Georgia,  toward  the  sea  in  the  celebrated  campaign  of  '64. 
I  was  then  almost  wicked  enough  to  wish  that  I  had  at 
this  time  and  there  ended  his  career.  But,  exchanging  a 
few  more  words  with  Capt.  Coffee,  I  called  for  my  satchel 
and  took  the  "bus"  for  the  station ;  arriving  there  I  acted 
upon  the  advice  of  my  new  made  friend  and  adviser. 
Quickly  procuring  my  ticket  and  entering  the  car,  I 
secured  the  rear  seat  and  with  fear  and  trembling 
attempted  to  hide  my  brogans  by  setting  my  satchel  on 
them.  (We  had  no  suit  cases  then. )  This  was  a  morning 
of  wonderful  excitement  in  the  station  for  it  was  the  last 
train  to  leave  Louisville  for  the  State  line  and  Memphis. 
There  were  thousands  of  people  there  crowding  every  avail- 
able foot  of  space — excitement  ran  high.  The  train  guards 
or  inspectors — fully  armed — were  busy  examining  pas- 
sengers and  their  baggage.  My  heart  almost  leaped  from 
my  bosom  as  they  came  down  the  aisle.  But  just  before 
they  reached  the  rear  of  the  car  the  bell  rang  and  the  train 
started.  The  guards  rushed  for  the  door,  leaving  me  and 
one  or  two  others  unquestioned  and  unmolested.  Like 
"Paul,  when  he  reached  the  three  taverns,"  I  thanked  God 
and  took  courage.  I  doubt  if  the  old  station  ever  before 
or  since  saw  such  excitement  and  heard  such  a  shout  as 
went  up  from  the  people  therein  assembled  as  the  train 
pulled  out  for  Dixie.  Many  of  these  people  were  Southern 
sympathizers  and  wished  us  God-speed  and  a  safe  journey. 
That  evening  I  joined  my  schoolboy  friends  and  soldier 
comrades,  the  "Flat  Rock  Grays,"  in  Camp  Burnett,  Ten- 
nessee, the  Grays  dropping  their  name  and  acquiring  the 
letter  "H"  in  the  regimental  formation  of  that  celebrated 


16  The  Orphan  Brigade. 

regiment  commanded  by  Col.  Eobert  P.  Trabue  and  known 
as  the  Fourth  Kentucky,  C.  S.  A.  That  night  I  slept  in 
camp  for  the  first  time — as  to  what  I  dreamed  I  am  unable 
to  say — it  might  have  been  of  the  sweetheart.  The  next 
day  was  spent  in  getting  acquainted  with  the  dear  fellows 
whose  comradeship  I  was  to  have  and  share  for  the  next 
four  years.  Here  began  the  experiences  of  the  real  sol- 
dier, that  was  to  include  some  of  the  most  momentous 
events  in  American  history.  Only  one  day,  however,  was 
spent  in  Burnett,  for  that  night  orders  came  for  those  com- 
panies that  had  been  supplied  with  arms  to  break  camp 
early  next  morning  and  take  the  train  for  Bowling  Green 
— to  "invade  Kentucky."  The  companies  without  arms, 
among  which  was  Company  H,  was  to  repair  to  Nash- 
ville where  we  procured  arms,  joining  the  rest  of  the  regi- 
ment a  few  weeks  later  at  Bowling  Green. 

I  have  told  you  of  the  beginning,  now  it  is  proper  and 
altogether  pertinent  that  I  should  refer  to  some  of  the 
closing  scenes  of  my  career  as  a  soldier.  But  I  am  here 
leaving  a  gap  in  my  history,  the  most  important  part  of  it, 
which  will  be  found  in  other  parts  of  this  little  book. 

Having  received  my  furlough  at  Jonesboro,  where  I 
was  wounded  on  August  31,  1864,  the  following  six  months 
were  spent  in  hospitals;  first  at  Barnesville,  later  at  Ma- 
con and  then  Cuthbert,  Ga.,  and  later  still  at  Eufaula, 
Ala.  I  had  as  companions  in  hospital  experiences  three 
other  Kentuckians,  Captain  E.  F.  Spears  of  this  city, 
Paris,  whom  you  all  know  to  have  been  a  gentleman  of 
the  highest  honor  and  noblest  emotions — a  gentleman — 
Oh,  how  I  loved  him;  and  Lieutenants  Hanks  and  Eales, 
noble  fellows  and  companionable  comrades.  Here  were 
formed  ties  of  friendship — that  death  alone  could  sever. 

But  having  sufficiently  recovered  from  my  wound,  I 
decided  the  last  of  March  that  I  would  make  an  effort  to 
reach  my  command  (the  Orphan  Brigade)  now  engaged 
in  a  desperate  effort  to  stay  the  progress  of  Sherman's 
devastating  columns  now  operating  in   South   Carolina. 


The  Orphan  Brigade.  17 

The  "Orphans"  in  the  meantime  and  during  my  absence 
had  been  converted  into  cavalry.  I  was  still  on  cratches 
and  bidding  Eufaula  friends  good-bye  (with  regret)  I 
started  once  more  for  the  front. 

The  times  were  now  fraught  with  gloomy  forebodings 
and  misgivings,  excitement  running  high.  The  South  was 
in  tears,  terror  stricken — the  Confederacy  surely  and  rap- 
idly was  reeling  to  her  doom.  General  Wilson's  cavalry 
was  raiding  through  Alabama  and  Georgia  with  but  little 
opposition,  destroying  the  railroads  and  almost  every- 
thing else  of  value  as  they  moved  across  the  country. 

On  the  train  I  had  very  distinguished  company  in  the 
person  of  General  "Bob"  Toombs,  who  commanded  the 
Georgia  militia,  a  mythical  organization  of  the  times,  and 
Mrs.  L.  Q.  C.  Lamar  of  Mississippi,  whose  husband  was 
afterward  a  member  of  Cleveland's  Cabinet,  I  was  very 
much  impressed  with  the  remarkable  personality  of  this 
lady  and  felt  sorry  for  her  and  her  family  of  seven  chil- 
dren, fleeing  terror  stricken  from  the  raiders.  Pande- 
monium seemed  to  reign  supreme  among  these  fleeing 
refugees,  the  air  being  literally  alive  with  all  sorts  of 
rumors  about  the  depredations  and  atrocities  of  the  raid- 
ers. Numerous  delays  occurred  to  the  train,  everybody 
on  board  fearing  the  raiders  and  anxious  to  move  on. 
General  Toombs,  excited  and  worried  at  these  delays, 
determined  to  take  charge  of  the  situation  and  see  that 
the  train  moved  on.  With  a  navy  revolver  in  each  hand 
he  leaped  from  the  train  and  with  an  oath  that  meant 
business  said  he  would  see  that  the  train  moved  on — 
which  it  did  rather  promptly,  the  General  taking  due 
credit  to  himself  for  its  moving,  which  the  passengers 
willingly  accorded  him.  Inquiring  who  this  moving  spirit 
was,  I  was  told  that  it  was  General  "Bob"  Toombs  (by 
this  name,  "Bob"  Toombs,  he  was  known  throughout  the 
United  States ) .  Instantly  there  flashed  into  my  mind  the 
celebrated  speech  he  made  in  the  United  States  Senate, 
in  which  he  said  that  "erelong  he  expected  to  call  the  roll 


18  The  Orphan  Brigade. 

of  his  slaves  beneath  the  shadow  of  Bunker  Hill  Monu- 
ment"— and  which  speech  did  more  to  fire  the  hearts  of 
the  North  than  almost  anything  said  or  done  prior  to  the 
war. 

But  finally  we  reached  Macon — where  I  had  been  in 
the  hospital — and  on  the  afternoon  of  the  second  day  after 
our  arrival,  Wilson's  cavalry  took  possession  of  the  city. 
That  night  some  of  the  fiends,  that  are  to  be  found  in 
every  army,  applied  the  torch  to  the  home  of  Senator 
Howell  Cobb,  the  Lanier  Hotel  and  a  number  of  other 
prominent  buildings.  I  could  realize  the  excitement  from 
the  Confederate  hospital  on  College  Hill,  which  overlooks 
the  city,  and  which  was  terrifying  and  appalling  beyond 
anything  I  had  ever  before  seen.  The  shrieks  and  cries  of 
the  women  and  children  almost  unnerved  me.  Woe  of 
woes !    Horror  of  horrors !  I  thought. 

But  I  must  do  General  Wilson  the  honor  to  say  that 
he  did  not  order  or  approve  of  this  fiendish  piece  of  work, 
for  he  did  all  in  his  power  to  prevent  and  stop  it ;  and  but 
for  his  efforts  the  city  would  no  doubt  have  been  com- 
pletely destroyed. 

Of  course  I  abandoned  my  attempt  to  join  the  old  boys 
of  the  "Orphan  Brigade."  I  was  now  a  prisoner,  every- 
thing lost  (save  honor),  gloom  and  chaos  were  everywhere. 
Obtaining  a  parole  from  the  Federal  officer  in  command 
(something  new),  I  decided  to  join  my  comrades  Knox 
and  Harp,  each  of  whom,  like  myself,  had  been  put  out  of 
business  by  wounds  received  sometime  before  and  who 
were  sojourning  with  a  friend  in  the  country  near  For- 
sythe,  intending  to  counsel  with  them  as  to  the  best  course 
to  be  pursued  next.  Having  enjoyed  the  hospitality  of  our 
host  and  his  good  wife  for  several  days,  Knox  and  myself 
decided  to  go  down  to  Augusta  for  a  last  and  final  parting 
with  the  remnant  of  these  dear  "old  boys"  of  the  "Orphan 
Brigade"  whom  we  learned  were  to  be  paroled  in  that 
city.  We  soon  learned  upon  our  arrival  in  the  city  that 
General  Lewis  and  staff  would  arrive  next  morning.    Next 


The  Orphan  Brigade.  19 

morning  the  General  and  staff  rode  through  the  city,  the 
most  sorrowful  and  forlorn  looking  men  my  eyes  ever 
looked  upon ;  it  was  enough  to  make  a  savage  weep.  The 
cause  for  which  we  had  so  long  fought,  sacrificed  and  suf- 
fered, lost,  everything  lost,  God  and  the  world  apparently 
against  us,  without  country,  without  home  or  hope,  the 
old  family  being  broken  up  and  separated  forever,  our  very 
souls  sinking  within  us,  gloom  and  sorrow  overhanging 
the  world ;  what  would  we  do ;  what  could  we  do?  Learn- 
ing from  General  Lewis  that  the  remnant  of  the  little  band 
of  immortals  who  had  contributed  so  much  to  the  history 
and  renown  of  Kentucky  in  the  great  conflict  would  be 
paroled  at  Washington,  some  twenty  miles  from  Augusta, 
Knox  and  myself  proceeded  to  that  place  for  a  last  and 
final  farewell. 

The  associations  of  almost  four  years  of  the  bloodiest 
war  in  modern  times  up  to  that  day  were  here,  to  be  for- 
ever broken  up.  The  eyes  that  gleamed  defiance  in  the 
battles'  rage  were  now  filled  with  tears  of  sorrow  at  part- 
ing. The  hand  that  knew  no  trembling  in  the  bloody 
onslaught  now  wavered  and  trembled — the  hour  for  the 
last  parting  had  arrived,  the  long  struggle  ended  forever 
— good-bye,  John ;  farewell,  Henry ;  it  is  all  over  and  all  is 
lost,  ended  at  last ;  good-bye,  boys ;  good-bye. 

Are  their  deeds  worth  recording,  worth  remembering? 
It  is  for  you,  dear  ladies,  rather  than  men,  to  say  whether 
it  shall  be  done  or  not,  and  in  what  way.  2"  am  content 
to  leave  it  to  you,  knowing  that  it  will  be  well  and  faith- 
fully done. 

Eesuming  the  closing  scenes  of  my  experiences  at 
Washington  and  the  final  sad  leave-taking  of  these  dear 
old  "Orphans,"  I  must  revert  to  my  friend  and  well  wisher 
(as  he  proved  to  be),  General  Toombs. 

The  Confederate  Government  had  saved  from  the  ruin 
that  befell  and  overtook  it  several  thousand  dollars  in  coin 


20  The  Orphan  Brigade. 

and  which  was  being  transported  across  the  country, 
whither,  no  one  seemed  to  know — in  charge  of  a  certain 
major. 

Now  Washington  was  the  home  of  my  hero  of  the  train 
incident.  The  powers  that  were  left  decided  to  distribute 
a  part  of  this  coin  among  the  faithful  veterans  who  were 
being  paroled  at  this  point.  The  cavalry,  who  did  not 
enlist  until  later  in  '62,  receiving  $26,  in  some  instances 
more,  while  the  Orphans  received  as  their  share  only  $3.50, 
a  very  unfair  and  inequitable  distribution,  character  of 
service  and  time  being  considered.  The  cavalry  in  this, 
as  in  some  other  instances,  receiving  the  lion's  share  and 
getting  the  most  of  the  good  things  that  fell  to  the  lot  of 
the  "pooh"  soldier.  This  money  consisted  mainly  of 
"double  eagles,"  three  of  which  fell  to  the  remnant  of  my 
company.  The  perplexing  question  now  was  how  could 
we  divide  this  money.  The  matter  was  finally  settled  by 
the  boys  commissioning  me  to  go  down  into  the  town  (a 
mile  or  more  away)  to  see  if  I  could  exchange  it  for 
smaller  coins.  Still  on  crutches,  I  finally  consented,  but  it 
was  a  task.  Going  into  town  and  from  home  to  home — 
all  business  houses  long  since  closed — I  at  last  staggered 
on  the  home  of  General  Toombs — not  knowing  he  lived 
there.  I  recognized  at  once  the  moving  spirit  of  the  train 
incident.  He  and  another  gentleman  were  seated  on  the 
veranda  engaged  in  earnest  and  animated  conversation. 
Saluting  in  military  style,  I  at  once  made  known  my  busi- 
ness.    The  General  protested  that  he  had  no  change,  but 

referring  me  to  his  guest,  Major ,  who,  he  said,  was 

in  charge  of  some  funds  in  the  house  belonging  to  the  gov- 
ernment. The  Major  remarked  if  I  would  wait  awhile  he 
would  furnish  me  with  the  required  change,  at  the  same 
time  retiring  to  a  back  room  of  the  house  where  I  soon 
heard  the  sound  of  a  hammer  or  hatchet,  presumably  in 
the  hand  of  the  Major,  who  was  engaged  in  opening  a  box 
or  chest.  In  the  meantime  the  General  invited  me  to  a 
seat  on  the  veranda  and  began  plying  me  with  numerous 
and  pertinent  questions — not  giving  me  a  chance  to  refer 


The  Orphan  Beigade.  21 

to  the  train  incident — asking  to  what  command  I  belonged, 
when  and  where  I  was  wounded  and  how  I  expected  to 
get  home  and  many  other  questions,  not  forgetting  in  his 
vigorous  and  vehement  way  (for  which  he  was  noted)  to 
deplore  the  fate  of  the  Confederacy  and  denouncing  the 
Yankee  in  unmeasured  and  vigorous  terms. 

Finally  after  so  long  a  time  the  Major  returned  with 
the  required  change — all  in  silver  and  while  not  much,  it 
gave  me  (already  tired  out)  great  worry  before  I  reached 
camp  on  my  crutches.  Of  course  I  thanked  the  Major 
and  apologized  for  having  put  him  to  so  much  trouble, 
and  saluting  him  good  day,  I  started  for  the  gate,  the 
General  preceding  me  and  still  asking  questions.  Opening 
the  gate,  for  which  I  thanked  him,  I  tipped  a  military 
salute  and  started  up  the  sidewalk.  But  the  General 
seemed  very  much  interested  in  me  and  walking  along- 
side the  yard  fence  he  suddenly  thrust  his  hand  into  his 
vest  pocket,  pulling  out  a  twenty  dollar  coin  and  quickly 
reaching  across  the  fence,  he  said,  "Here,  Lieutenant,  take 
this  from  me.  You  will  doubtless  need  it."  Dumfounded 
at  this  sudden  change  of  affairs,  I  politely  declined  it,  but 
the  General,  in  a  spirit  of  earnest  command,  forcefully 
said,  "Here,  take  it,  sir;  you  are  a  d — n  long  way  from 
home  and  you  will  need  it  before  you  get  there."  Com- 
prehending the  spirit  which  prompted  it,  I  accepted  it  and 
thanked  him,  extending  him  my  hand,  which  he  grasped 
with  a  warmth  that  thrilled  my  soul  to  its  very  depths. 

Thus  the  diamond  in  the  rough  that  I  had  seen  on  the 
train  at  once  became  the  glittering  jewel  that  sparkled 
and  shed  its  brilliance  to  the  depths  of  my  then  thankful 
and  weary  soul.  I  love  to  think  of  this  incident  and  this 
great  man  (for  he  was  truly  a  great  man  of  his  time) 
and  transpiring  at  the  time  it  did  and  under — to  me — 
such  distressing  and  discouraging  circumstances,  it  is  one 
of  the  happy  and  cheering  oases  of  my  soldier  life. 

Going  from  Washington  back  to  Augusta  I  met  and 
spent  the  following  night  in  company  with  Hon.  E.  M. 


22  The  Orphan  Brigade. 

Bruce,  one  of  the  best  friends  I  ever  had,  whose  friend- 
ship, magnanimity  and  generosity  toward  myself  and  other 
Kentuckians  was,  as  in  my  case,  made  practical,  he  pre- 
senting me  with  three  double  eagles,  which  I  was  com- 
pelled to  receive  as  a  recompense  for  acts  of  friendship 
and  assistance  rendered  him  during  the  trying  times  of 
the  preceding  four  years.  I  have  never  known  a  grander 
character  than  E.  M.  Bruce,  a  truer  friend,  a  nobler  man. 

But  now,  with  more  than  $80  of  real  money,  I  was 
quite  well  equipped  for  the  return  to  dear  "Old  Ken- 
tucky," which  I  was  glad  to  see  after  an  absence  of  almost 
four  years,  spent  under  the  most  dangerous  and  trying 
circumstances  to  which  it  was  possible  for  man  to  be 
exposed. 

There  were  doubts  in  my  mind  as  to  what  our  status 
as  citizens  would  be  and  just  how  we  would  be  received 
and  regarded  by  some;  returning  as  we  did,  overcome, 
discomfited,  defeated.  But  we  well  knew  how  we  wonld  be 
received  by  those  who  loved  us  and  whose  sympathies  were 
manifested'in  a  thousand  ways  not  to  be  mistaken  or  mis- 
understood. Here  in  these  manifestations  was  recom- 
pense for  the  long  years  of  absence  amid  dangers,  trials 
and  suffering. 

And  now  after  a  lapse  of  more  than  half  a  century, 
with  its  wonderful  history,  we  are  still  remembered  by 
some  of  the  kind  and  gentle  spirits  that  greeted  us  on  our 
return,  and  other  charming  and  lovely  spirits  of  the  U.  D. 
C,  descendants  of  the  noblest  ancestry  that  ever  lived 
and  inhabited  this,  the  fairest  land  that  God  ever  made. 

These  circumstances,  these  surroundings  and  inspir- 
ing scenes  make  hallowed  the  lives  of  these  few  surviv- 
ing old  veterans,  rendering  it  a  panacea  for  all  that  we 
as  soldiers  of  the  "lost  cause"  encountered  and  suffered. 

From  the  fulness  of  my  heart  I  thank  you,  noble  ladies, 
for  your  kindness  and  patient  attention.  This  oppor- 
tunity to  appear  before  you  today  is  more  than  a  pleasure 
and  I  feel  honored  to  find  myself  in  your  presence  and 
appreciate  your  happy  greeting. 


CHAPTER  III. 
RECOLLECTIONS  OF  THE  BATTLE  OF  SHILOH. 

(From  an  address  delivered  at  the  meeting  of  the 
Morgan's  Men  Association  at  Olympian  Springs,  Septem- 
ber 2,  1916.) 

Mr.  President ,  Old  Comrades,  Ladies  and  Gentlemen: 

I  must  confess  that  this  is  somewhat  embarrassing  at- 
tempting to  talk  in  public  at  the  age  of  seventy-two,  never 
having  attempted  such  a  thing  before.  But  the  subject 
upon  which  I  am  expected  to  talk  is  certainly,  to  myself, 
at  least,  interesting,  and  the  occasion  I  am  sure  is  happy 
and  inspiring,  had  I  only  the  ability  to  do  them  justice. 
However,  by  reason  of  my  inexperience  in  matters  of  this 
kind,  I  believe  I  can  safely  appeal  to  the  charity  of  my 
audience  to  overlook  any  failure  I  may  make  to  properly 
interest  them  in  what  I  shall  have  to  say. 

You  ask  sir,  that  I  shall  relate  some  of  my  observations 
and  experiences  of  the  great  battle  of  Shiloh.  Well  fifty- 
two  years  and  more  is  a  long  time  and  takes  us  back  to  that 
important  event  in  American  History  that  transpired  on 
the  banks  of  the  Tennessee  on  April  6  and  7,  1862.  Some 
of  these  old  veterans  now  seated  before  me  can  doubtless 
remember  many  of  the  exciting  and  intensely  interesting 
scenes  of  these  two  eventful  days.  It  is  more  deeply  im- 
pressed upon  my  mind,  because  of  the  fact  that  it  was 
our  initial  battle  and  early  impressions  are  said  to  be  al- 
ways most  lasting. 

This  was  the  first  of  a  series  of  grand  and  important 
events  in  the  history  of  that  renowned  little  band  of  Ken- 
tuckians,  known  in  history  as  the  "Orphan  Brigade,"  but 
which  for  the  present  occasion  I  shall  designate  as  the  Ken- 
tucky Brigade,  it  not  receiving  its  baptismal  or  historic 
name  until  the  celebrated  charge  of  Breckinridge  at  Mur- 

(23) 


24  The  Orphan  Brigade. 

freesboro.  But  what  a  grand  and  thrilling  opening  chapter 
in  the  lives  of  these  Kentucky  boys,  as  soldiers,  for  we  were 
only  boys,  as  we  now  look  back  at  things,  a  majority  of 
us  being  under  twenty-one. 

Now,  if  I  were  called  upon  to  say  which  in  my  judg- 
ment was  the  best  planned,  most  thoroughly  and  sys- 
tematically, fought  battle  of  the  war  in  which  I  took  part, 
I  would  unhesitatingly  say  Shiloh.  As  time  rolled  on  and 
with  subsequent  observations  and  experiences  on  other  im- 
portant fields,  such  as  Murfreesboro,  Chickamauga,  Resaca, 
Atlanta,  Jonesboro  and  a  number  of  others,  I  am  still  con- 
strained to  say  that  Shiloh  was  the  typical  battle.  I  mean, 
of  course,  battles  fought  in  the  West  and  in  which  Ken- 
tucky  troops  took  a  prominent  part. 

If  in  relating  my  story  I  shall  seem  somewhat  partial  to 
Kentuckians,  I  hope  I  may  be  excused  for  it  is  of  them  I 
shall  talk  mainly,  besides,  you  know  I  love  them  dearly. 
And  in  the  exercise  of  this  partiality  I  claim  to  be  justi- 
fied from  the  fact  that  a  number  of  the  leading  characters 
in  this  grand  tragedy  of  war  were  Kentuckians.  First 
among  whom  was  the  great  general  and  peerless  leader; 
others  were  Breckinridge,  Preston,  Tighlman,  Trabue, 
Helm,  Morgan,  Monroe,  Lewis,  Hunt,  Hodges,  Wickliffe, 
Anderson,  Burns,  Cobb  and  last  but  by  no  means  least, 
Governor  George  W.  Johnson  whose  patriotic  example  was 
unsurpassed  and  whose  tragic  death  was  one  of  the  most 
pathetic  incidents  of  the  great  battle.  A  conspicuous  figure 
indeed  was  he,  so  much  so  that  when  found  on  the  field 
mortally  wounded  by  the  enemy,  thev  believed  him  to  be 
General  Breckinridge.  Private  John  Vaughn,  of  my  old 
Company  H  of  the  Fourth  Regiment,  relates  this  story  in 
regard  to  this  sad  and  lamentable  incident.  Vaughn  was 
severely  wounded  and  was  lying  on  the  field  near  where 
Governor  Johnston  fell  and  from  which  he  had  just  been 
removed  by  the  enemy,  when  General  Grant  rode  up  and 
inquired  to  what  command  he  belonged.  When  told  by 
Vaughn  to  what  command  he  belonged,  Grant  said :    "And 


The  Orphan  Brigade.  25 

it  is  Kentuckians,  is  it,  that  have  been  fighting  my  men  so 
desperately  at  this  point?'7  Here  is  where  the  four  des- 
perate charges  and  counter-charges  were  made  on  the  Sev- 
enth and  noted  by  Colonel  Trabue  as  commander  of  the 
Kentucky  Brigade  in  his  official  report  of  the  great  battle, 
the  bloodiest  part  of  the  field  where  Kentucky  gave  up 
many  of  her  noblest  and  best.  This  is  the  field  to  which 
General  Grant  refers  in  his  "Memoirs,"  when  in  writing 
of  the  desperate  fighting  of  the  Confederates,  he  says :  "I 
saw  an  open  field  on  the  second  day's  battle  over  which  the 
Confederates  had  made  repeated  charges,  so  thickly  cov- 
ered with  their  dead  that  it  might  have  been  possible  to 
have  walked  across  the  clearing  in  any  direction  stepping 
on  dead  bodies  without  touching  a  foot  to  the  ground." 

Here  were  enacted  scenes  of  sublime  courage  and  hero- 
ism that  elicited  the  admiration  and  comment  of  the  civil- 
ized world;  here  the  soil  of  Tennessee  drank  freely  the 
blood  of  her  elder  sister,  Kentucky. 

But  Grant,  when  told  by  Vaughn  that  he  belonged  to 
the  Kentucky  Brigade,  turned  to  one  of  his  aids  and  or- 
dered a  litter  to  be  brought  and  had  Vaughn  placed  upon  it 
saying,  "We  have  killed  your  General  Breckinridge  and 
have  him  down  yonder,"  pointing  in  the  direction  of  their 
field  hospital.  He  then  had  him  taken  down  to  where  the 
supposed  General  Breckinridge  lay.  It  seems  that  they 
were  doubtful  of  and  wished  to  establish  his  identity. 
Pointing  to  the  body  of  the  dying  Governor  he  asked 
Vaughn  if  he  was  not  his  general.  When  Vaughn  told  him 
that  it  was  Governor  Johnson  and  not  General  Breckin- 
ridge, Grant  turned  away  quickly  with  a  look  of  disap- 
pointment upon  discovering  his  mistake  and  learning  who 
he  was.  Vaughn  used  to  relate  this  incident  with  consid- 
erable feeling  and  pride  as  connecting  him  with  General 
Grant  at  this  particular  time  and  under  such  peculiar  and 
painful  circumstances.  I  mention  it  because  it  contains 
more  than  ordinary  interest  to  some  of  us  Kentuckians, 


26  The  Orphan  Brigade. 

who  had  the  opportunity  of  witnessing  the  heroic  conduct 
and  sublime  courage  of  this  noble  citizen  of  Kentucky. 

But  let  us  notice  while  passing  some  of  the  sacrifices 
Kentucky  made  in  this  first  great  battle  of  the  war  in  the 
West  and  the  compliment  incidently  and  unintentionally 
paid  us  (as  Kentuckians ) ,  by  the  greatest  general  that 
ever  commanded  the  Federal  army. 

First  among  whom  was  the  great  general  and  peerless 
leader,  Albert  Sidney  Johnston,  whose  name  I  always 
mention  with  feelings  of  profound  pride  and  admiration, 
I  would  liked  to  have  said  veneration.  George  W.  Johnson, 
the  noble  beloved  citizen  and  patriotic  Governor,  whose 
voluntary  example  of  sublime  courage  and  heroism  was 
without  a  parallel  in  the  great  battle.  Thomas  B.  Monroe, 
the  youthful  and  distinguished  journalist,  statesman  and 
accomplished  soldier,  a  man  with  scarce  a  peer  at  his  age 
in  either  civil  or  military  life.  Charles  N.  Wickliffe,  the 
gallant  and  dashing  colonel  of  the  Seventh  Kentucky,  and 
a  thousand  other  Kentuckians  many  less  distinguished  but 
equally  brave — the  flower  of  Kentucky  youth  and  man- 
hood. Is  it  any  wonder  I  am  partial  to  Kentuckians  and 
proud  of  their  record  in  this  great  and  memorable  battle? 

Oh,  how  well  I  remember  the  morning  of  that  eventful 
Easter  Sabbath,  April  6,  1862.  So  beautiful  and  lovely 
that  all  nature  seemed  proud  and  happy.  Trees  budding, 
flowers  blooming,  birds  singing,  everything  seemingly  joy- 
ful and  happy  in  the  bright  sunshine  of  early  spring,  save 
man  alone.  But  with  what  awfulness  the  scene  changes 
when  we  contemplate  man's  actions  at  this  hour  and  time 
bent  upon  the  overthrow  and  destruction  of  his  fellowman 
and  how  ominously  significant  the  preparation. 

Just  at  early  dawn  we  were  quietly  awakened  by  our 
officers — many  a  noble  and  brave  boy  from  his  last  sleep 
on  earth;  the  bugle  not  sounding  the  reveille,  for  fear  of 
attracting  the  attention  of  the  enemy,  it  being  part  of  the 
great  general's  plan  to  take  him  by  surprise,  which  suc- 
ceeded admirably,  notwithstanding  the  oft  repeated  de- 


The  Orphan  Brigade.  27 

nials  of  General  Grant  to  the  contrary.  Quickly  arrang- 
ing our  toilets  and  having  hastily  despatched  breakfast 
from  our  haversacks  we  formed  in  double  column  by  com- 
pany, the  band  in  front  leading,  playing  "Dixie,"  which 
sounded  upon  the  early  morning  stillness  in  this  deep 
wildwood,  as  it  never  before  sounded,  soul-stirring  and  in- 
spiring. What  patriotic  soldier  could  fail  to  be  moved  by 
its  charm  and  pathos?  The  veil  of  caution  and  silence  now 
removed  by  the  band,  down  through  the  woods  of  massive 
oaks  we  moved  at  quick-step,  every  man  doubtless  believing 
himself  the  equal  of  half  a  dozen  Yankees.  A  very  errone- 
ous notion  indeed,  soon  dispelled  by  hard  and  stubborn 
facts  to  the  contrary.  But  on  we  moved  stopping  but  once 
to  unsling  knapsacks,  which  with  our  Sunday  clothes  and 
precious  jewels  we  never  saw  again.  Ah,  some  of  those 
precious  iewels !  Still  on  we  moved.  Now  the  roll  of  the 
Skirmishers'  rifles  away  out  in  front  told  that  the  issue 
of  battle  was  being  joined,  not  Greek  against  Greek,  but 
American  against  American  in  one  of  the  most  desperate 
and  sanguinary  conflicts  of  the  great  war.  Led  by  two  of 
the  greatest  military  chieftains  of  the  age;  here  the  high 
spirited  and  chivalrous  youth  from  the  Southern  planta- 
tions and  the  daring,  hardy  Western  boy  from  the  prairies 
of  the  West,  had  met  in  battle  array. 

Here  was  to  be  a  display  of  courage  and  chivalry  un- 
surpassed in  the  annals  of  war.  Xow  an  occasional  boom, 
boom,  of  the  big  guns,  began  to  echo  up  and  down  the  valley 
of  the  Tennessee  as  Hardee's  batteries  seemingly  in  chorus 
with  those  of  the  enemy  in  reply,  began  to  open  on  Grant's 
battalions  now  hurriedly  forming,  having  recovered  from 
their  surprise  caused  by  the  sudden  and  unexpected  attack 
of  Hardee's  advanced  lines.  Stirred  by  the  highest  am- 
bition of  our  youthful  hearts  on  toward  the  front  rapidly 
and  steadily,  now  in  column  of  fours,  moved  the  Ken- 
tucky Brigade.  Passing  down  a  little  narrow  valley  just 
to  the  left  and  on  the  higher  ground,  we  passed  that  gallant 
little  band  of  Kentuckians  known  as  Morgan's  Squadron 


28  The  Orphan  Brigade. 

at  the  head  of  which,  seated  on  "Black  Bess"  the  real  (not 
the  mythical  "Black  Bess"  that  some  of  you  fellows  some- 
times talk  so  loudly  about  and  never  saw),  but  the  real 
Black  Bess — was  that  grandest  specimen  of  a  Kentucky 
soldier,    save   one — the   immortal    Breckinridge — Captain 
John  H.  Morgan.     The  Kentucky  Brigade  was  proud  to 
find  itself  in  such  noble,  such  royal  company,  though  for  a 
passing  moment  only.     Oh,  how  it  thrilled  our  hearts  as 
these  Kentucky  boys,  Morgan's  men,  greeted  us  by  waving 
their  hats,  cheering  and  singing  their  famous  battle  song; 
"Cheer,  boys,  cheer;  we'll  march  away  to  battle; 
Cheer,  boys,  cheer,  for  our  sweethearts  and  our  wives ; 
Cheer,  boys,  cheer ;  we'll  nobly  do  our  duty, 
And  give  to  Kentucky  our  arms,  our  hearts,  our  lives." 
General  Duke,  you  remember  this  incident.     Do  you 
not,  sir?    More  than  happy  am  I  with  such  a  noble  wit- 
ness to  attest  the  correctness  of  this  part  of  my  story.    It 
was  the  second  line  of  this  famous  stanza  that  touched  my 
soul  most  and  sunk  deepest  into  my  youthful  heart,  for  I 
had  left  back  in  old  Nicholas  a  little,  black-eyed,  curly- 
haired  maiden  whose  image  at  that  very  moment  seemed 
fairer  than  all  the  angels  in  heaven.     My  old  heart  still 
beats  quick  when  I  think  of  this  thrilling  incident  and 
those  charming  eyes.  Now  there  are  doubtless  some  of  you 
old  veterans  who  are  listening  to  me  that  left  home  under 
similar  circumstances  as  myself  kissing  farewell,  as  you 
thought,  perhaps  for  the  last  time,  the  dear  little  girl  you 
were  leaving  behind  and  who  felt  on  the  battle's  verge  as 
I  did  and  was  tempted  to  exclaim  with  me  in  the  anguish 
of  your  heart,  "Oh  cruel,  cruel  relentless  war,  what  sad 
havoc  you  have  wrought  with  lovers  and  lovers'  lives." 
Verily,  old  comrades,  I  believe  I  am  growing  sentimental 
as  well  as  very  childish,   but  these  thoughts  crowd  my 
memory  and  must  have  vent.     Still  to  the  battle's  breach 
I  must  go  where  the  "pride,  pomp  and  circumstances  of 
glorious  war"  invite. 

Pressing  rapidly  forward  we  quickly  passed  through 


The  Orphan  Brigade.  29 

the  enemy's  outer  encampments  from  which  they  had  fled 
when  attacked  and  surprised  by  Hardee's  skirmishers,  leav- 
ing behind  them  untouched,  their  breakfasts  of  steaming 
hot  coffee,  fried  ham  and  other  good  things  with  which 
their  improvised  tables  seemed  to  be  heavily  ladened,  and 
which  under  other  and  more  favorable  circumstances,  we 
would  have  quickly  appropriated.  But  the  scenes  of  great- 
est moment  and  absorbing  interest  were  on  the  front  to- 
ward which  we  were  rapidly  hurrying  where  the  clash  of 
steel,  shot  and  shell  was  resounding  with  the  fury  of 
desperation. 

How  well  I  remember  the  first  victim  of  war — a  Con- 
federate— I  saw  on  this  eventful  morning.  How  well,  too, 
I  remember  the  hiss  and  scream  of  the  first  shells  of  the 
enemy's  guns  that  passed  closely  above  our  heads,  and 
how  quickly  and  ungracefully  we  bowed  in  acknowledg- 
ment. How  well,  also,  I  remember  the  first  volley  fired  at 
us  by  Colonel  Worthington's  Forty-sixth,  Ohio,  our  neigh- 
bors from  just  across  the  river.  We  had  hardly  completed 
the  formation  of  changing  "front  to  rear"  on  our  first 
company  in  order  to  confront  them  squarely  bv  bringing 
our  line  parallel  with  theirs,  when  they  opened  fire  on  us, 
getting  the  drop  on  us,  if  you  please. 

Now  I  need  not  say  much  about  this  experience,  for  I 
am  sure  that  every  old  veteran  remembers  well  the  first 
fire  to  which  he  was  exposed,  but  I  do  believe  that  my  hair 
must  have  stood  on  end  and  fairly  lifted  my  cap  for  I  felt 
as  they  leveled  their  rifles,  that  every  man  of  us  would 
surely  be  killed.  Not  many  however,  were  killed  or  seri- 
ously hurt,  for  the  enemy  in  their  eagerness  and  great  ex- 
citement fired  wildly  over  our  heads.  The  next  was  ours, 
and  as  we  had  been  previously  cautioned  by  Major  Monroe 
to  fire  low,  we  made  it  count.  Quickly  reloading  our  rifles 
we  had  hardly  fired  the  second  volley  when  the  sharp  shrill 
voice  of  Major  Monroe  rang  out  amid  the  roar  and  din 
of  battle,  "Fix  bayonet"  and  was  quickly  repeated  by  the 
company  commanders.     My,  my;  oh  Lord;  but  the  cold 


30  The  Orphan  Brigade. 

chills  darted  up  and  down  my  spinal  column  as  I  con- 
templated the  use  of  the  bayonet.  Now  if  there  is  any 
scene  upon  the  battle-field  more  exciting  and  more  terrify- 
ing than  the  glimmer  and  glitter  of  a  fixed  bayonet  in  the 
hands  of  a  desperate  and  determined  enemy,  pointed  di- 
rectly at  your  throat  or  your  stomach,  I  have  never  seen 
it.  Terrified  at  the  gleam  and  clatter  of  our  bayonets 
:Worthington's  men  broke  and  fled  through  the  woods  rally- 
ing on  their  reserves,  stationed  some  distance  in  rear  of 
their  original  position.  It  was  well  perhaps  for  them  that 
they  did,  for  thoroughly  drilled  as  we  were  in  the  bayonet 
exercise,  they  would  doubtless  have  found  themselves  at 
a  great  disadvantage  in  the  use  of  this  weapon,  had  they 
stood  to  make  the  test.  But  with  fixed  bayonets,  acceler- 
ated by  the  Rebel  yell,  we  followed  at  a  double-quick,  pass- 
ing over  their  dead  and  wounded  halting  just  beyond.  What 
a  ghastly  sight ;  what  a  terrible  scene !  Here  was  pictured 
for  the  first  time  in  our  experience  the  horrors  of  the  battle- 
field in  all  of  its  hideousness.  How  well  the  new  Enfield 
rifles,  with  which  we  had  been  armed  just  before  leaving 
Burnsville  for  the  battlefield  two  days  before,  following 
the  reading  of  General  Johnston's  famous  battle  order,  were 
used  upon  this  occasion,  the  dead  and  severely  wounded  of 
more  than  three  hundred  of  the  enemy  grimly  told.  Colo- 
nel Trabue  in  his  official  report  says  more  than  four  hun- 
dred but  I  hardly  think  there  were  .so  many.  There  were 
enough  at  least  to  attest  the  efficiency  of  our  new  Enfields 
and  the  correctness  of  our  aim.  Many  of  these  poor  fel- 
lows begged  us  piteously  not  to  kill  them  as  though  we 
were  a  band  of  savages  without  pity  or  compassion,  know- 
ing nothing  of  the  usages  and  customs  of  civilized  warfare. 
It  was  an  insult  to  our  sense  of  honor  and  chivalry.  But 
we  soon  convinced  them  by  every  act  of  kindness  possible 
under  the  circumstances  that  we  were  both  civilized  and 
chivalrous,  notwithstanding  the  teachings  of  the  Northern 
press  to  the  contrary.  How  false,  absurd  and  ridiculous 
these  charges  by  some  of  these  stayed-at-home  sycophants 


The  Orphan  Brigade.  31 

of  the  Northern  press  accusing  us  with  brutal  and  inhu- 
man treatment  of  their  wounded  that  fell  into  our  hands. 
But,  just  before  the  encounter  of  the  Fourth  Kentucky, 
which  occupied  the  extreme  left  of  the  Confederate  battle 
line,  with  the  Forty-sixth  Ohio,  the  roll  of  musketry  and 
the  roar  of  artillery  came  down  the  battle  line  from  right 
to  left  fa  distance  of  more  than  three  miles),  like  the  suc- 
cessive waves  of  the  ocean  as  Grant  hurled  his  battalions 
in  echelon  against  the  extended  lines  of  Johnston,  open- 
ing fire  in  rapid  succession  as  they  deployed  and  struck 
our  lines,  to  which,  the  Confederates  in  like  successive 
manner  instantly  replied.  Oh,  I  tell  you  this  was  sublime- 
ly grand  beyond  the  power  of  man  to  describe.  As  Grant's 
battalions  were  successfully  met  and  hurled  back,  that  ter- 
rible and  ominous  sound,  the  "Rebel  yell"  heard  by  us  for 
the  first  time  on  the  battle  field  told  that  the  day  was  surely 
and  steadily  becoming  ours.  The  enemy  made  another 
desperate  and  determined  stand  and  from  their  advan- 
tageous position  occupied  by  their  reserves  on  which  their 
broken  columns  had  rallied,  they  poured  a  deadly  and  de- 
structive fire  into  our  ranks  killing  and  wounding  many  of 
our  men.  We  had  been  pushed  forward  under  the  enemy's 
fire  and  halted  to  await  the  movement  of  our  reinforce- 
ments moving  in  our  rear  and  to  our  left,  and  while  await- 
ing the  execution  of  this  movement  we  learned  quickly  for 
the  first  time  the  importance  of  lying  flat  on  our  faces  as 
a  means  of  protection  from  this  deadly  fire  of  the  enemy. 
This  was  trying  indeed  under  orders  not  to  fire ;  compelled 
to  remain  passive  and  see  your  comrades  being  killed  all 
around  you,  momentarily  expecting  the  same  fate  your- 
self. At  last  co-operating  with  the  flanking  column  on  our 
left,  with  fixed  bayonets  we  made  a  desperate  direct  at- 
tack and  drove  the  enemy  from  this  very  formidable  posi- 
tion which  they  had  been  holding  for  some  time,  not  how- 
ever until  we  had  lost  in  killed  and  wounded  more  than 
two  score  of  our  brave  and  gallant  boys.  I  am  now  speak- 
ing of  the  operations  of  my  own  regiment — matters  were 


32  The  Orphan  Brigade. 

too  absorbing  to  pay  much  attention  to  what  others  were 
doing. 

Again  pushing  forward  we  quickly  encountered  the 
enemy's  reinforcements,  which  they  had  thrown  forward  to 
resist  our  advance  and  were  again  exposed  to  another 
scathing  and  deadly  fire.  Again  resorting  to  our  former 
tactics  of  lying  flat  on  our  faces,  we  returned  their  fire, . 
turning  upon  our  backs  to  reload  our  rifles,  then  again 
upon  our  faces  to  deliver  fire,  here  the  battle  raged  furi- 
ously, for  some  time  and  here  again  we  lost  a  number 
more  of  our  gallant  boys.  I  shall  never  forget  the  anguish 
of  the  boy  immediately  to  my  left,  as  he  expired  from  the 
effects  of  a  ball  that  passed  through  his  body.  In  the 
meantime  and  while  the  battle  was  raging  at  this  point, 
Burns'  and  Cobb's  Kentucky  batteries  of  fourteen  pieces, 
which  were  stationed  upon  the  extreme  right  of  the  Ken- 
tucky Brigade,  were  hurling  shot  and  shell,  grape  and 
canister,  with  terrific  and  deadly  force  into  the  enemy's 
moving  columns,  as  they  shifted  from  right  to  left  of  the 
battle  line.  Grant  seemed  anxious  to  turn  our  left,  but 
was  anticipated  and  promptly  met  by  counter-movements 
of  the  Confederates,  he  having  a  most  worthy  rival  in  the 
art  and  skill  of  maneuvering  troops  upon  the  battlefield. 
Finally  the  terrible  and  desperate  assault  of  the  Tennes- 
seans  away  to  our  right,  led  by  the  gallant  Breckinridge 
and  the  peerless  Johnston  against  the  enemy's  center  and 
his  stronghold,  known  as  the  "Hornet's  Nest,"  compelled 
Grant  to  yield  every  position  he  had  taken  and  seek  shelter 
and  protection  under  the  banks  of  the  Tennessee.  This 
was  the  sad  and  fatal  moment,  for  here  in  this  desperate 
charge  the  great  general  fell. 

Co-operating  with  the  troops  on  our  left  the  Kentucky 
Brigade  hinged  upon  Burns'  battery,  the  whole  left  wing 
of  the  army  swinging  like  a  massive  gate  to  the  right, 
joined  in  this  last  desperate  charge  and  had  the  proud  sat- 
isfaction of  participating  in  the  capture  and  impounding 
of  Prentiss'  division  of  more  than  three  thousand  men,  in- 


The  Orphan  Brigade.  33 

eluding  the  celebrated  Watterhouse  battery  of  Chicago 
with  its  magnificent  equipment  of  new  guns  and  fine 
horses.  This  magnificent  battery  had  been  equipped  by 
this  great  millionaire  for  whom  it  was  named,  we  wondered 
how  he  felt  when  he  learned  the  fate  of  his  pets.  I  never 
in  my  entire  experience  as  a  soldier  saw  such  a  humiliated 
and  crestfallen  body  of  soldiers  as  these  men  were ;  prison- 
ers driving  their  own  magnificent  battery  from  the  field. 
It  looked  really  cruel  to  thus  humiliate  them.  But  then 
you  know  it  is  said,  that  all's  fair  in  love  and  war.  To  the 
first  of  which  saying  I  am  compelled  to  demur  for  I  know 
that  all  is  not  fair  in  love,  however,  it  may  be  in  war.  But 
in  striking  contrast  what  a  jubilant  and  overjoyed  set  of 
fellows  we  Confederates  were,  what  a  time  for  rejoicing! 

This  was  one  of  the  proudest  moments  of  my  soldier 
life,  exciting  and  thrilling  almost  beyond  description.  Their 
artillery  being  driven  from  the  field  by  their  own  gunners ; 
their  infantry  formed  in  a  hollow  square  stacking  arms  and 
lowering  their  colors ;  their  officers  dismounting  and  turn- 
ing over  their  horses  and  side  arms;  Confederate  officers 
and  orderlies  galloping  to  and  fro  in  every  direction;  ex- 
citement unbounded  and  uncontrolled  everywhere.  Imagine 
these  transcendent  and  rapidly  transpiring  scenes  and 
think  for  a  moment  if  you  can,  how  these  "boys"  unused  to 
such  tragedies  must  have  felt  amid  such  stupendous  and 
overwhelming  surroundings.  Why  we  made  the  very 
Heaven  and  earth  tremble  with  our  triumphant  shouts. 
And  I  doubt  not,  I  know  they  did,  for  General  Grant  inti- 
mates they  did,  the  enemy  routed  and  hurrying  to  the 
banks  of  the  Tennessee  for  protection,  trembled  also. 

Now  the  scene  changes  somewhat,  reforming  our  lines 
and  filing  to  the  right  and  left  around  this  enclosed  square 
in  which  these  prisoners  were  held,  we  again  moved  for- 
ward to  the  front  expecting  to  deliver  the  last  and  final 
blow.  Four  o'clock  three-quarters  of  an  hour  later,  with 
more  than  two  hours  of  sunshine  in  which  to  deliver  the 
last  and  final  blow,  found  us  drawn  up  in  the  most  mag- 


34  The  Orphan  Brigade. 

nificent  line  of  battle  I  ever  beheld,  extending  up  and  down 
the  river  bottom  to  the  right  and  left  as  far  as  we  could 
see,  straight  as  an  arrow ;  every  man  in  place  standing  at 
"attention"  exuberant  with  joy,  flushed  with  victory,  all 
understanding  the  situation,  eager  for  the  signal  to  be 
given  that  they  knew  would  finish  the  glorious  day's  work. 
Grant's  army  cowering  beneath  the  banks  of  the  Tennessee 
awaiting  the  final  summons  to  surrender.  What  a  moment 
of  grand  anticipation  and  oh,  how  quick  the  heart  beat! 
But  at  what  fearful  cost  to  the  Confederate  cause,  the  ap- 
parent great  victory!  The  voice  of  the  great  commander, 
now  silent  with  a  successor  unwilling  to  finish  the  day's 
work  so  gloriously  begun  and  so  successfully  executed  up 
to  the  hour  of  his  fall.  And  oh,  how  important  the  hour 
to  the  new  born  nation !  How  portentous  the  signs !  Here 
and  in  this  hour  was  sacrificed  the  opportunity  of  the 
Southland's  cause,  here  was  thrown  away,  so  to  speak — 
the  grandest  opportunity  ever  offered  to  any  general  in 
modern  times.  Here  the  "green-eyed  monster,"  jealousy, 
must  have  whispered  into  the  ear  of  Beauregard.  Here  I 
must  draw  the  black  curtain  of  disappointment  and  despair 
to  which  I  never  can  be  reconciled.  But  let  it  rest  as  lost 
opportunity  and  bury  it  in  the  oblivion  of  forgetfulness. 
Paradoxically  speaking  here  was  lost  the  opportunity  of 
the  "Lost  Cause."  But  what  followed,  many,  yes  all  of 
us  know  too  well. 

It  is  strange  what  momentous  events  sometimes  turn 
upon  seemingly  trifling  and  insignificant  circumstances. 
With  the  prevailing  tenseness  of  the  moment,  if  one  man 
had  leaped  to  the  front  of  that  battle  line  and  shouted 
"forward,"  Grant's  army  as  a  consequence  would  have 
been  overrun  and  captured.  Grant  known  no  more  in  his- 
tory; the  "Stars  and  Bars"  would  have  been  planted  upon 
the  banks  of  the  Ohio ;  Kentucky  redeemed  and  history  dif- 
ferently written.     Had  Johnston  the  great  captain,  lived, 


The  Orphan  Brigade.  35 

this  would  have  been  accomplished.  But  it  seems  that 
Providence  decreed  it  otherwise  by  removing  the  master 
mind. 

From  this  magnificent  battle  line  which  I  have  at- 
tempted to  describe  and  this  moment  of  proud  hope  and 
expectancy  we  were  by  order  of  Beauregard,  withdrawn 
to  the  camps  of  the  enemy  from  which  we  had  driven  them 
during  the  day — not  worn  out  and  exhausted — which 
Beauregard  gave  as  his  excuse  for  failing  to  carry  out  the 
plans  of  the  great  commander  to  crush  Grant  before  Buell 
could  come  to  his  rescue. 

Passing  the  night  in  the  camps  of  the  enemy;  recount- 
ing the  exciting  incidents  of  the  day ;  indulging  in  the  rich 
and  bountiful  supplies  of  a  plethoric  commissary,  and  no 
less  rich  and  bountiful  supply  of  sutlers  stores  in  great 
variety,  just  received  from  the  North,  we  enjoyed  a  "Bal- 
shazzar"  feast  not  knowing,  and  little  thinking  of  the 
"handwriting  on  the  wall"  in  the  form  of  30,000  reinforce- 
ments then  crossing  the  Tennessee  to  be  met  and  reckoned 
with  on  the  morrow. 

Why,  oh  why,  did  Beauregard  not  allow  us  to  finish 
the  day's  work  so  gloriously  begun  by  Johnston?  Every 
man  must  answer  this  question  for  himself.  Beauregard 
did  not  answer  it  satisfactorily  to  the  soldiers  who  were 
engaged,  whatever  the  opinion  of  the  world.  What,  but  the 
spirit  of  envy  and  jealousy  and  an  overweening  ambition 
to  divide  the  honors  of  victory  with  Johnston,  which  he 
hoped  and  expected  to  win  on  the  morrow  could  have  con- 
trolled his  course?  That  and  that  alone,  answers  the  sad 
question  in  the  mind  of  your  humble  friend  and  comrade. 
I  am  aware  that  this  will  be  considered  presumption  in 
me,  but  it  is  history  in  part  and  as  observer  and  participant, 
I  have  the  right  to  criticize. 

The  morning  of  the  fateful  7th  came  and  with  it  the 
direful  results  that  followed.  The  arrival  of  Buell,  the 
Blucher  of  the  day,  turned  the  tide  and  sealed  the  fate  of 
the  cause — the  golden  opportunity  lost,  lost  forever !  The 
historv  of  that  dav  is  well  known  to  all  students  of  the 


36  The  Orphan  Brigade. 

great  war  and  to  none  better  than  the  few  survivors  of  that 
little  band  of  Kentuckians  afterward  known  in  history,  as 
the  Orphan  Brigade,  and  whose  part  in  the  grand  tragedy- 
was  such  an  important  factor.  It  needs  no  studied 
eulogium  or  lofty  peroration  to  tell  the  story  of  the  part 
played  by  this  little  band.  A  loss  of  forty  per  cent  in  killed 
and  wounded  tells  the  story,  and  is  the  panegyric  offered 
by  Kentucky  on  this  memorable  and  bloody  field. 

I  might  speak  more  in  detail  of  this  last  day's  bloody 
work  and  describe  more  at  length  many  of  the  horrible 
sights  witnessed  and  the  terrible  suffering  of  our  wounded 
in  their  transfer  to  Corinth  during  the  next  three  days 
over  almost  impassable  roads — the  most  horrible  the  mind 
could  possibly  picture,  exposed  to  the  almost  continuous 
downpour  of  rain  and  the  awful,  awful  sadness  that  filled 
our  hearts  in  the  loss  of  so  many  of  our  comrades,  kinsmen 
and  school-fellow  friends  and  the  further  deep  humiliation 
of  final  defeat,  but  the  story  would  be  too  horrible  and  sad 
to  elaborate. 

I  have  already  taken  too  much  of  your  time  in  relating 
a  little  of  personal  romance  in  connection  with  something 
of  history  and  in  conclusion  will  say  I  am  here  in  part  for 
what  may  be,  though  I  hope  not,  a  last  farewell  handclasp 
with  these  dear  "Old  Boys,"  Morgan's  men,  the  equals  of 
whom  as  soldiers  and  citizens,  Kentucky  and  the  world 
will  never  again  see.  I  thank  you  for  your  attention  and 
the  courtesy  you  have  shown  me. 

It  seems  altogether  natural  and  opportune  now  that  a 
large  part  of  the  world  is  engaged  in  war  that  our  minds 
should  revert  to  the  past  and  the  historic  battle  scenes  in 
which  we  engaged  should  be  renewed  in  reminiscence. 


CHAPTER  IV. 
THE  BOMBARDMENT  OF  VICKSBURG. 

Because  of  the  similarity  of  scenes  now  transpiring  on 
the  Western  front  in  France  I  am  tempted  to  describe  a 
scene  that  occurred  and  that  I  witnessed  during  the  siege 
of  Vicksburg  in  July,  1862.  My  regiment  (4th  Ky.)  had 
been  detailed  and  sent  on  detached  service  down  to  War- 
renton,  some  miles  below  Vicksburg,  leaving  in  camp  a 
number  of  sick  that  were  unable  to  go,  among  whom  was 
Capt.  Bramblett  and  myself.  On  the  morning  of  the  15th 
of  July  just  at  sunrise,  suddenly,  unexpectedly,  as  if  the 
infernal  regions  had  suffered  an  eruption,  the  earth  rocked 
and  trembled,  the  Heavens  seemed  pierced  and  rent  with 
the  roar  and  thunder  of  cannon  of  all  sizes,  mortars  from 
gunboats,  siege  guns,  land  batteries  and  everything  of  a 
terrifying  and  destructive  character,  that  man  was  capable 
of  inventing  appeared  to  be  turned  loose,  an  explanation 
of  which  no  one  would  venture  to  make. 

Directly  however,  news  came  that  the  Confederate  ram 
"Arkansas"  had  run  the  blockade  of  the  upper  fleet  of 
federal  gunboats  and  transports,  and  was  lying  at  the 
wharf  in  Vicksburg.  The  news  was  magical  on  some  of  us 
sick  fellows,  and  myself  and  Sergeant  Knox  started  im- 
mediately, without  breakfast,  to  see  the  wonder  and  learn 
the  news  of  the  exciting  episode.  Arriving  at  the  wharf 
we  soon  saw  the  cause  of  the  terrible  outburst  of  excite- 
ment and  terror. 

The  Arkansas  had  been  constructed  at  Yazoo  City. 
Whisperings  of  its  existence  and  probable  descent  upon 
the  blockading  fleet  in  the  Mississippi  had  been  heard  for 
sometime,  and  now  we  could  see  the  monster  (so  to  speak) 
in  her  grim  and  battered  condition  with  numerous  holes 
in  her  smoke  stack,  made  by  shots  from  the  enemy's  guns, 

(37) 


38  The  Orphan  Beigade. 

and  a  large  piece  torn  out  of  her  cast  prow.  Her  crew  was 
composed  of  the  most  daring  despicable  smoke-begrimed, 
looking  set  I  ever  beheld,  but  who  were  elated  at  their  suc- 
cessful victory.  It  was  both  interesting  and  amusing  to 
hear  them  discussing  their  recent  experiences. 

That  night  the  world  went  wild  and  pandemonium 
reigned  supreme  in  and  around  Vicksburg;  for  every  gun 
and  mortar  in  both  the  upper  and  lower  fleets  turned  loose 
every  element  of  hell  and  terror  they  possessed,  with  the 
seeming  determination  to  destroy  everything  in  and 
around  the  devoted  old  city.  The  Confederate  siege-guns 
with  "Whistling  Dick"  for  leader  joining  in  the  grand 
Orchestral  chorus  of  ruin  and  chaos. 

The  scene  was  the  most  spectacular  and  pyrotechnical 
event  of  the  war  and  has  never  been  equaled  unless  it  has 
occurred  in  the  awful  experiences  on  the  Western  front  or 
at  the  Dardanelles.  It  was  sublimely  grand  and  tests  the 
wildest  imagination  of  the  mind  to  describe  it. 

The  air  was  literally  burdened,  with  ascending  and 
descending  shells  which  were  easily  traced  in  their  course 
upward  and  downward,  shells  from  the  upper  and  lower 
fleets,  crossing  each  other  in  their  flight  Heavenward,  be- 
fore they  reached  their  zenith,  others  in  their  downward 
course  and  a  few  at  the  apex  and  still  others,  that  failed 
to  explode  reached  the  ground  destroying  everything  with 
which  they  came  in  contact.  The  flashes  from  these  guns 
illumined  the  surroundings  for  miles,  and  reminded  you 
of  a  terrific  thunderstorm  with  continuous  flashes  of  light- 
ning. Every  color  of  the  rainbow  could  be  seen  in  this 
terrible  and  grand  display.  Balloon  shaped  clouds  of 
smoke  from  exploding  shells  could  be  seen,  floating  slowly, 
softly,  through  the  air,  adding  amazement  and  wonder  to 
the  grand  aerial  tragedy  taking  place  in  the  Heavens. 

In  reading  of  the  terrific  bombardments  in  the  great 
war  now  raging,  and  comprehending  these  descriptions  and 
pictures,  I  count  myself  no  stranger,  and  this  scene  I  have 
attempted  to  describe  I  am  sure  will  compare  favorably 


The  Orphan  Brigade.  3& 

with  anything  in  the  great  world-war  of  today.  Not  all 

the  wonders  and  terrors  of  war  are  yours,  boys !  Some  of 

us  older  warriors  have  seen  something  of  war  too.  But  it's 
all  grand  and  glorious,  isn't  it  boys? 


CHAPTER  V. 

MURFREESBORO  (Stone  Rivee). 

It  is  to  the  great  and  interesting  battle  of  Murfrees- 
boro  and  some  of  the  incidents  and  circumstances  preced- 
ing it,  that  I  shall  devote  this  article.  History  will  some 
day  accord  it  but  one  name,  whereas  it  now  has  two — Mur- 
freesboro  and  Stone  River — but  I  shall  use  the  former. 

Here  a  mile  or  so  Southeast  of  the  city,  on  a  beautiful 
little  plain  or  suburban  scope  of  country,  was  encamped 
for  a  period  of  three  months,  the  Orphan  Brigade.  The 
weather  was  beautiful  and  we  enjoyed  both  it  and  the  many 
good  things  we  had  to  eat  and  the  hospitable  greetings  of 
the  good  people  of  the  town  and  surrounding  country.  But 
while  we  were  enjoying  these  good  things,  we  were  under- 
going a  strict  military  training,  being  drilled  in  the  school 
of  the  company,  battalion  and  the  more  comprehensive  and 
enlarged  movements  of  the  brigade  and  division  maneuv- 
ers, some  of  which  we  had  seen  employed  at  Shiloh  and 
elsewhere  by  exigencies  in  actual  battle.  It  was  a  matter 
of  general  pride  in  which  as  a  member,  I  still  glory  that 
the  Orphan  Brigade  was  the  most  thoroughly  drilled  and 
best  disciplined  body  of  men  in  the  Confederate  army.  In 
substantiation  of  this  claim,  I  refer  to  the  compliment  paid 
us  a  little  later  on  by  General  Hardee,  in  a  trial  drill  with 
the  First  Louisiana  Brigade,  held  at  Beech  Grove  in  the 
Spring  following,  and  at  which  trial  drill  General  Hardee 
was  one  of  the  judges,  and  was  heard  to  say  that  to  excel 
our  drilling  would  require  the  construction  of  a  different 
and  better  code  than  was  laid  down  in  the  system  of 
tactics  bearing  his  name.  The  truth  was  we  were  deter- 
mined to  allow  no  body  of  troops  to  excel  us  in  anything 
pertaining  to  these  accomplishments  or  history  of  the  sol- 
dier.   This  was  accomplished  in  a  great  measure  by  the  re- 

(40) 


The  Orphan  Brigade.  41 

quirements  and  training  of  that  military  martinet,  "Old" 
Roger  Hanson.  I  use  the  appellation  with  the  most  pro- 
found respect.  The  facts  as  to  these  accomplishments  can 
be  attested  by  numbers  of  men  still  living  and  who  often 
refer  to  General  Hanson's  rigid  discipline  and  require- 
ments with  feelings  of  respect  and  pride.  I  must  instance 
one  circumstance,  in  support  of  this  assertion. 

Some  time  after  he  took  command  he  issued  an  order 
that  all  officers  and  privates  alike  should  be  in  full  dress 
and  in  proper  places  at  roll  call  in  the  morning  after  the 
sounding  of  the  reveille.  This  did  not  suit  many  of  the 
officers  who  wanted  to  take  a  morning  snooze,  but  "Roger's" 
orders  were  inexorable  to  officers  and  soldiers  alike  and 
it  was  for  a  few  mornings  laughable  to  see  these  officers 
hustling  on  their  clothes  and  into  line.  There  was  nothing 
that  pertained  to  discipline  and  order  that  escaped  his 
notice.  It  was  sometimes  amusing  to  hear  some  fellow 
relate  his  experience  in  attempting  to  outwit  and  fool  him, 
and  the  fellow  that  attempted  it  was  always  caught.  It 
just  could  not  be  done. 

But  the  whirligig  of  time  was  rapidly  turning  and 
bringing  with  it  lively  and  exciting  times ;  big  with  impor- 
tance to  the  country  and  the  Confederate  cause  and  espe- 
cially and  particularly  to  these  dear  Orphans  of  mine. 

While  in  Mississippi  and  preceding  his  disastrous  Ken- 
tucky campaign  and  in  which  his  malevolent  nature  was 
displayed,  Bragg  refused  us  the  great  joy  we  so  earnestly 
and  hopefully  prayed  for  viz,  the  return  to  Kentucky  with 
his  army,  where  we  might  see  the  dear  ones  at  home,  and 
incidentally  aid  the  cause  by  inducing  enlistments. 

But  the  fact  that  quite  a  number  of  our  fellow  Ken- 
tuckians  were  coming  out  with  the  newly  enlisted  cavalry 
commands  and  bringing  with  them  the  news  from  home 
and  friends — the  first  of  consequence  for  a  year  or  more — 
gave  us  some  comfort  and  consolation.  In  the  meantime 
some  interesting  matters  of  thrilling  moment  were  tran- 


42  The  Oephan  Bbigade. 

spiring  down  here,  "Where  the  oak,  the  ash  and  red  elm 
tree,  all  grow  green  in  old  Tennessee." 

Eosecrans,  not  satisfied  with  results  at  Perryville,  was 
cutting  across  the  country  for  another  opportunity  to  test 
his  military  skill  and  prowess,  and  to  punish  these  un- 
repentant rebels  for  daring  to  offer  resistance  to  the  "old 
flag"  and  trying  to  "break  up  the  best  Government  the 
world  ever  saw,"  and  over  which  Government  some  of  these 
same  people  are  now  fussing  among  themselves. 

Excuse  me,  please.  I  see  I  am  again  off  my  base.  Back 
to  my  beloved  Orphans  I  must  go.  Oh,  how  I  do  love 
them! 

The  change  from  the  ordinary  routine  of  drill  maneuver 
and  review  was  brought  about  by  the  plan  of  General  Mor- 
gan to  attack  the  enemy's  advance  post  at  Hartsville,  North 
of  the  Cumberland  and  about  thirty  miles  or  more  from 
Murfreesboro.  This  movement  included  in  its  plan  the 
co-operation  of  the  Orphan  Brigade  and  making  it  a  dis- 
tinctly Kentucky  command,  planned,  led  and  fought  by 
Kentuckians,  and  which  was  one  of  the  most  complete  and 
brilliant  affairs  of  the  war.  Some  of  us  to  this  day  feel 
the  sting  of  disappointment  of  not  being  privileged  to  share 
in  this  "coupe  de  grace"  as  the  Fourth  and  Sixth  Regi- 
ments  were  left  at  Baird's  mill  to  guard  against  the  possi- 
bility of  an  intercepting  column  from  Nashville.  My  heart 
went  out  in  sympathy  (practically)  to  these  boys  on  their 
return  to  our  encampment,  worn  out  with  fatigue,  ex- 
hausted and  hungry  and  almost  frozen,  the  weather  being 
bitter  cold  and  the  ground  covered  with  snow  to  a  depth 
of  several  inches.  I  confess  also  to  a  feeling  of  sorrow 
for  the  poor  blanketless  prisoners  who  passed  a  night  of 
suffering,  though  we  did  the  best  we  could  for  them  by  fur- 
nishing them  with  fires. 

But  here  again  the  Orphans  engaged  in  this  fight  paid 
dearly  for  their  honors,  especially  the  Second  Regiment, 
which  lost  heavily  in  both  officers  and  men,  the  Ninth  Regi- 
ment also  losing  considerable.     But  this  seemed  but  the 


The  Orphan  Brigade.  43 

prelude  to  the  grand  Christmas  entertainment  staged  to 
come  off  later  and  when  Breckinridge's  Kentuckians  re- 
ceived the  soubriquet  Orphan  Brigade  by  which  they  have 
ever  since  been  known  and  which  will  pass  into  the  annals 
of  history,  alongside  that  of  the  "Tenth  Legion,"  the  "Old 
Guard"  and  "Light  Brigade." 

With  a  sense  of  feeling  that  impresses  me  with  my 
utter  inability  to  at  all  do  justice  to  the  subject  of  Mur- 
freesboro  (or  Stone  Kiver),  I  fear  to  undertake  the  task. 

To  the  writer  this  was  in  some  respects  one  of  the  most 
interesting,  exciting  and  captivating  battles  of  the  war  in 
which  he  took  part.  Captivating,  because  the  great  battle 
of  the  31st  was  witnessed  from  my  vantage  point  of  view — 
the  left  of  our  entrenchments  on  Swain's  hill — overlooking 
the  stretch  of  country  on  which  the  battle  was  fought,  ex- 
tending as  it  did  from  the  Nashville  turnpike  and  railroad, 
which  at  this  point  are  parallel,  and  at  which  point  also 
stood  the  famous  "Cowans'  burnt  house,"  referred  to  by 
historians  and  which  I  saw  burn,  the  afternoon  before. 
From  this  knoll  I  could  see  the  principal  part  of  the  field. 

Before  attempting  to  describe  the  battle  on  this  part 
of  the  field,  I  must  look  up  my  Orphans  and  see  what  they 
are  now,  and  have  been  doing  these  last  few  hours.  On  the 
afternoon  of  Monday,  the  29th  they  took  possession  of  this 
hill,  which  was  the  acknowledged  key  to  Bragg's  position 
of  defense.  And  herein  lies  a  kind  of  mystery,  why  he 
would  trust  to  these  men,  in  the  judgment  of  whose  offi- 
cers he  showed  later  on  he  had  so  little  confidence,  this  the 
most  important  point  in  his  whole  line,  and  why  should  it 
be  entrusted  to  them — the  Kentucky  Brigade.  Some  were 
wicked  enough  to  say,  and  his  course  toward  us  later,  as 
that  of  Friday,  strengthens  this  belief  that  he  wanted  us 
all  killed,  hence  placing  us  in  the  most  perilous  position. 
Now  mind  you,  gentle  reader,  I  am  not  giving  this  as  my 
opinion,  but  others  have  given  it  as  theirs.  While  "bivou- 
acking" a  little  behind  this  hill  the  enemy's  skirmishers  a 
little  after  dark  made  quite  a  determined  onset  on  our 


44  The  Orphan  Brigade. 

skirmishers  in  front  of  the  hill,  but  were  driven  back  finally 
with  considerable  loss  to  both  parties.  It  was  a  daring  and 
courageous  move  and  created  no  little  excitement  and  con- 
cern and  looked  for  a  time  like  a  night  attack  was  pending. 
The  30th  was  spent  in  getting  ready  by  both  parties  to  the 
battle. 

And  early  on  the  morrow  we  took  our  position  on 
Swain's  hill  in  support  of  Cobb's  and  the  Washington  ar- 
tillery. From  my  vantage  position  I  could  see  more 
plainly  the  Confederate  lines  than  the  Federal,  because  the 
Confederates  were  on  a  direct  line  extending  Southward, 
while  the  Federals  were  obliquely  to  the  front  and  partial- 
ly obscured  by  an  intervening  cedar  glade  and  in  the  after- 
noon the  Confederates  swung  like  a  great  gate  on  their 
pivotal  position,  while  just  behind  and  to  the  left  of  this 
was  the  enemy's  strong  point  of  resistance,  to  which  he  had 
finally  been  driven.  The  smoke  from  the  guns  of  the  long 
lines  of  infantry,  as  they  moved  forward  to  the  attack  and 
the  counter  stroke  from  the  enemy's  resisting  columns,  the 
dashing  to  and  fro,  up  and  down  the  lines  and  over  the 
field  by  officers,  orderlies,  aides  and  couriers,  carrying  or- 
ders and  dispatches,  with  here  and  there  a  battery  belching 
forth  shot  and  shell  was  a  sight  wonderful  to  behold  and 
never  to  be  forgotten.  The  most  thrilling  incident  to  that 
view  was  early  in  the  day  when  a  body  of  cavalry,  sup- 
posed to  be  "Dragoons,"  swung  into  line  from  behind  the 
cedar  glade  with  drawn  sabers,  gleaming  and  waving  in 
the  crisp  chill  sunlit  air,  dashed  down  over  the  open  fields 
in  a  grand  charge  upon  the  Confederate  infantry,  whose 
movements  a  few  moments  before  convinced  me  of  this 
approaching  cavalry  charge. 

We  had  been  instructed  by  Buckner,  Monroe  and  others 
on  the  drill  field  in  the  formation  of  the  "hollow  square" 
to  resist  the  charge  of  cavalry  and  when  I  saw  these  regi- 
ments doubling  column  at  half  distance  I  knew  what  was 
coming.  To  see  the  field  officers  on  horseback  rushing 
within  the  squares  as  they  closed  and  the  front  rank  kneel- 


The  Orphan  Brigade.  45 

ing,  all  with  fixed  bayonets  glittering  in  the  frosty  sun- 
light, and  these  oncoming  charges  with  waving  sabers  and 
glittering  helmets  was  a  sight  unsurpassed  by  anything  I 
witnessed  during  the  war.  The  nearest  approaching  it  was 
by  Sherman's  charge  at  Eesaca.  As  soon  as  the  squares 
were  formed  the  artillery  in  the  rear  opened  fire  through 
these  intervening  spaces  made  by  the  formation  of  the 
square,  whereupon  artillery  and  infantry  combined  swept 
the  field  and  the  charging  column  turned  in  confusion  and 
route,  skurrying  helter  skelter  back  over  the  field,  leaving 
numbers  of  men  horseless. 

Soon  the  "Rebel  yell"  down  the  line  told  us  that  things 
were  going  our  way  and  looking  we  could  see  our  friends 
moving  forward  like  a  mighty  serpent  drawing  his  coils. 

While  this  was  transpiring  on  the  left  a  battery  in  our 
front  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river  was  industriously 
employed  in  shelling  Cobb's  and  Slocum's  batteries  sta- 
tioned on  Swain's  hill,  and  whose  business  for  the  time  it 
was  the  Orphans  to  support.  When  I  saw  this  cavalry 
charge,  to  which  I  have  referred,  the  thought  instantly  and 
involuntarily  came  to  my  mind  of  the  repeated  attacks  of 
Napoleon's  cavalry  on  the  squares  of  Wellington's  infantry 
at  Waterloo.  The  sight  was  so  thrilling  that  I  hoped  they 
would  repeat  it.  But  how  foolish,  I  thought  this  was,  in 
this  body  of  cavalry  attempting  to  ride  down  regiments 
of  veteran  infantry.  Their  officers  must  surely  have 
thought  that  they  could  reach  the  Confederate  line  before 
they  could  complete  this  formation.  If  so,  they  paid  dearly 
for  their  mistake. 

The  battle  progressed  steadily  and  satisfactorily  to  the 
Confederates  until  about  four  o'clock,  when  they,  in  the 
language  of  the  "bum,"  "run  against  a  snag."  Woods'  and 
Sheridan's  divisions,  with  other  of  Rosecrans'  forces  had 
concentrated  upon  his  extreme  left,  which  was  his  strong- 
est position  for  a  final  and  last  stand.     The  conflict  here 


46  The  Orphan  Brigade. 

was  desperate  and  bloody,  neither  party  seeming  to  have 
much  the  advantage. 

The  National  cemetery  now  occupies  this  identical 
ground  and  in  which  there  are  more  than  6,000  Federal 
soldiers  buried.  A  beautiful  and  fit  place  for  the  remains 
of  these  brave  Western  soldiers  to  rest,  for  here  upon  this 
field  was  displayed  a  courage  that  all  men  must  admire. 

Both  armies  slept  that  night  upon  the  field  with  the 
greater  part  of  the  field  in  possession  of  the  Confederates 
and  the  advantages  and  results  of  the  day  almost  wholly 
in  their  favor. 

The  Orphans  spent  the  night  in  the  rear  of  and  among 
the  artillery  they  had  been  supporting.  When  morning 
came  we  found  that  the  enemy  was  still  in  our  front  instead 
of  on  the  road  to  Nashville  as  Bragg  believed.  Both  par- 
ties seemed  willing  that  a  truce  should  prevail  for  the  day 
and  scarcely  a  shot  was  heard.  Bragg  believed  that  Rose- 
crans'  army  was  "demolished"  and  would  surely  retreat  to 
his  base  (Nashville),  and  so  informed  President  Davis. 

But  old  "Rosy"  had  something  else  in  his  mind.  He 
was  planning  and  scheming  and  matured  a  plan  for  a  trap 
and  Bragg  walked  right  into  it  with  the  innocence  of  a 
lamb  and  the  ignorance  of  a  man  that  had  never  known 
anything  of  the  art  of  war,  and  the  butchery  of  the  next 
day  followed  as  a  result  of  his  obstinacy  and  the  lack  of 
military  skill.  Had  he  listened  to  the  protestations  of 
General  Breckinridge  and  his  officers  he  might  have  saved 
for  the  time  being  his  military  reputation  and  the  lives  of 
several  hundred  brave  and  noble  men. 

The  recounting  of  the  steps  that  led  up  to  this  ill-con- 
ceived and  fatal  denouement  and  the  efforts  by  General 
Breckinridge  to  prevent  its  consummation,  by  one  while 
not  high  in  rank,  but  who  claims  to  know  something  of 
the  facts  in  the  case,  may  not  go  amiss  even  at  this  late  day. 

Early  on  the  morning  of  January  2,  Captain  Bramblett, 
commanding  Company  H,  Fourth  Kentucky,  and  who  had 
served  with  General  Breckinridge  in  Mexico,  received  or- 


The  Orphan  Brigade.  47 

ders  from  him  (Breckinridge),  to  make  a  thorough  recon- 
naissance of  the  enemy's  position,  Company  H  being  at 
that  time  on  the  skirmish  line.  Captain  Bramblett  with 
two  of  his  lieutenants,  myself  one  of  them,  crawled  through 
the  weeds  a  distance  of  several  hundred  yards  to  a  prom- 
inent point  of  observation  from  which  through  his  field 
glass  and  even  the  naked  eye  we  could  see  the  enemy's  con- 
centrated forces  near  and  above  the  lower  ford  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  river,  his  artillery  being  thrown  for- 
ward and  nearest  to  the  river.  His  artillery  appeared  to  be 
close  together  and  covering  quite  a  space  of  ground;  we 
could  not  tell  how  many  guns,  but  there  was  quite  a  num- 
ber. The  infantry  was  seemingly  in  large  force  and  ex- 
tended farther  down  toward  the  ford.  Captain  Bramblett 
was  a  man  of  no  mean  order  of  military  genius  and  in- 
formation, and  after  looking  at,  and  studying  the  situation 
in  silence  for  some  minutes,  he  said  to  us  boys,  "that  he 
believed  Rosecrans  was  setting  a  trap  for  Bragg."  Con- 
tinuing, he  said,  "If  he  means  to  attack  us  on  this  side,  why 
does  he  not  reinforce  on  this  side?  Why  concentrate  so 
much  artillery  on  the  bluff  yonder?  He  must  be  expecting 
us  to  attack  that  force  yonder,  pointing  to  Beatty's  position 
on  the  hill  North  of  us,  and  if  we  do,  he  will  use  that 
artillery  on  us  as  we  move  to  the  attack."  At  another  time 
during  the  afternoon  I  heard  him  while  discussing  the 
situation  with  other  officers  of  the  regiment  use  substan- 
tially the  same  argument.  I  accompanied  Captain  Bram- 
blett to  General  Breckinridge's  headquarters  and  heard 
him  make  substantially  in  detail  a  report  containing  the 
facts  above  recited.  Captain  Tom  Steele  was  ordered  (his 
company  having  relieved  ours)  on  the  skirmish  line  to 
make  a  reconnaissance  also,  and  made  a  similar  report, 
and  lastly  General  Breckinridge,  to  thoroughly  and  un- 
mistakably understand  the  situation  and  satisfy  himself,  in 
company  with  one  or  two  of  his  staff  examined  the  situa- 
tion as  best  he  could  and  I  presume  reached  the  same  con- 
clusion, and  when  he  (Breckinridge)  repaired  to  Bragg's 


48  The  Orphan  Brigade. 

headquarters  and  vouchsafed  this  information  and  sug- 
gested the  presumptive  plan  of  the  enemy,  Bragg  said: 
"Sir,  my  information  is  different.  I  have  given  the  order 
to  attack  the  enemy  in  your  front  and  expect  it  to  be 
obeyed." 

What  was  General  Breckinridge  to  do  but  attempt  to 
carry  out  his  orders,  though  in  carrying  out  this  unwise 
and  ill-conceived  order  it  should  cost  in  one  hour  and  ten 
minutes  1,700  of  as  brave  and  chivalrous  soldiers  as  the 
world  ever  saw.  What  a  terrible  blunder,  what  a  bloody 
and  useless  sacrifice!  And  all  because  General  Breckin- 
ridge had  resented  the  imputation  that  the  cause  of  the 
failure  of  Bragg's  Kentucky  campaign  was  the  "disloyalty 
of  her  people  to  the  Confederate  cause."  Could  anyone  of 
the  thousands  of  Kentuckians  that  espoused  the  cause 
of  the  South,  complacently  acquiesce  in  this  erroneous 
charge  and  endorse  the  spirit  that  prompted  this  order 
and  led  to  the  slaughter  of  so  many  of  her  noble  boys? 
This  was  the  view  that  many  of  us  took  of  Bragg's  course. 

How  was  this  wicked  and  useless  sacrifice  brought 
about?  "That  subordinate  must  always  obey  his  superior" 
— is  the  military  law.  In  furtherance  of  Bragg's  order  we 
were  assembled  about  three  o'clock  on  the  afternoon  of 
January  2,  1863  (Friday,  a  day  of  ill  luck)  in  a  line  North 
of  and  to  the  right  of  Swain's  hill,  confronting  Beatty's 
and  Growes'  brigades,  with  a  battery  or  two  of  artillery  as 
support.  They  being  intended  for  the  bait  that  had  been 
thrown  across  the  river  at  the  lower  ford,  and  now  occu- 
pied an  eminence  some  three-quarters  of  a  mile  to  the 
right-front  of  the  Orphan's  position  on  Swain's  hill. 

This  was  the  force,  small  as  it  was  that  Bragg  was  so 
anxious  to  dislodge.  Between  the  attacking  line  and  fed- 
eral position  was  a  considerable  scope  of  open  ground, 
fields  and  pastures,  with  here  and  there  a  clump  of  bushes 
or  briars,  but  the  entire  space  was  in  full  view  of  and 
covered  by  the  enemy's  batteries  to  the  left  of  the  line  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  river  previously  referred  to.     If 


The  Orphan  Brigade.  49 

the  reader  will  only  carry  these  positions  in  his  eye,  he  can 
readily  discover  the  jaws  of  the  trap  in  this  murderous 
scheme. 

A  more  imposing  and  thoroughly  disciplined  line  of 
soldiers  never  moved  to  the  attack  of  an  enemy  than  re- 
sponded to  the  signal  gun  stationed  immediately  in  our 
rear,  which  was  fired  exactly  at  four  o'clock.  Every  man 
vieing  with  his  fellowman,  in  steadiness  of  step  and  cor- 
rect alignment,  with  the  officers  giving  low  and  cautionary 
commands,  many  knowing  that  it  was  their  last  hour  on 
earth,  but  without  hesitating  moved  forward  to  their  in- 
evitable doom  and  defeat.  We  had  gotten  only  fairly 
started,  when  the  great  jaws  of  the  trap  on  the  bluff  from 
the  opposite  side  of  the  river  were  sprung,  and  bursting 
shells  that  completely  drowned  the  voice  of  man  were 
plunging  and  tearing  through  our  columns,  ploughing  up 
the  earth  at  our  feet  in  front  and  behind,  everywhere. 
But  with  steadiness  of  step  we  moved  on.  Two  companies 
of  the  Fourth  regiment,  my  own  and  adjoining  company, 
encountered  a  pond,  and  with  a  dexterous  movement  known 
to  the  skilled  officer  and  soldier  was  cleared  in  a  manner 
that  was  perfectly  charming,  obliquing  to  the  right  and 
left  into  line  as  soon  as  passed. 

By  reason  of  the  shorter  line  held  by  the  enemy,  our 
line,  which  was  much  longer  and  the  colors  of  each  of  our 
battalions  being  directed  against  this  shorter  line,  caused 
our  lines  to  interlap,  making  it  necessary,  in  order  to  pre- 
vent confusion  and  crowding,  that  some  of  the  regiments 
halt,  until  the  others  had  passed  forward  out  of  the  way. 
When  thus  halted  they  would  lie  down  in  order  to  shield 
themselves  from  the  enemy  infantry  fire  in  front,  who  had 
by  this  time  opened  a  lively  fusillade  from  behind  their 
temporary  works. 

While  lying  on  the  ground  momentarily  a  very  shocking 
and  disastrous  occurrence  took  place  in  Company  E,  im- 
mediately on  my  left  and  within  a  few  feet  of  where  I  lay, 
A  shell  exploded  right  in  the  middle  of  the  company,  al- 


50  The  Orphan  Brigade. 

most  literally  tearing  it  to  pieces.  When  I  recovered  from 
the  shock  the  sight  I  witnessed  was  appalling.  Some 
eighteen  or  twenty  men  hurled  in  every  direction,  includ- 
ing my  dear  friend,  Lieut.  George  Burnley  of  Frankfort. 
But  these  circumstances  were  occurring  every  minute  now 
while  the  battle  was  raging  all  around  and  about  us.  Men 
moved  intuitively — the  voice  being  silenced  by  the  whiz- 
zing and  bursting  shells.  On  we  moved,  Beatty's  and 
Growes'  lines  giving  way  seemingly  to  allow  the  jaws  of 
the  trap  to  press  with  more  and  ever  increasing  vigor  upon 
its  unfortunate  and  discomfited  victims.  But,  on  we 
moved,  until  the  survivors  of  the  decoy  had  passed  the 
river  and  over  the  lines  stationed  on  the  other  side  of  the 
river,  when  their  new  line  of  infantry  opened  on  our  con- 
fused and  disordered  columns  another  destructive  and 
ruinous  fire. 

Coupled  with  this  condition  and  correlative  to  it,  a 
battery  of  Growes  and  a  part  of  their  infantry  had  been 
cut  off  from  the  ford  and  seeing  our  confused  condition, 
rallied,  reformed  and  opened  fire  on  our  advanced  right 
now  along  the  river  bank.  Confronted  in  front  by  their 
infantry,  with  the  river  intervening;  swept  by  their  ar- 
tillery from  the  left  and  now  attacked  by  both  infantry  and 
artillery  by  an  oblique  fire  from  the  right,  we  found  our- 
selves in  a  helpless  condition,  from  which  it  looked  like  an 
impossibility  to  escape;  and  but  for  the  fact  that  two  or 
three  batteries  had  been  ordered  into  position  to  check  the 
threatened  advance  of  the  enemy  and  thereby  distract  their 
attention,  we  doubtless  would  have  fared  still  worse. 

We  rallied  some  distance  to  the  right  of  where  we 
started  and  found  that  many,  very  many,  of  our  noblest, 
truest  and  best  had  fallen.  Some  of  them  were  left  on  the 
field,  among  whom  was  my  military  preceptor,  advisor  and 
dear  friend,  Captain  Bramblett,  who  fell  into  the  hands  of 
the  enemy  and  who  died  a  few  days  after  in  Nashville.  I 
shall  never  forget  our  parting,  a  moment  or  two  before, 
he  received  his  wound — never  forget  the  last  quick  glance 


The  Orphan  Brigade.  51 

and  the  circumstances  that  called  it  forth.  He  was  a 
splendid  soldier  and  his  loss  grieved  me  very  much.  Many 
another  gallant  Kentuckian,  some  of  our  finest  line  and 
field  officers,  were  left  on  the  field,  a  sacrifice  to  stupidity 
and  revenge.  Thirty-seven  per  cent  in  one  hour  and  ten 
minutes — some  say  one  hour — was  the  frightful  summary. 
Among  the  first  of  these  was  the  gallant  and  illustrious 
Hanson,  whose  coolness  and  bearing  was  unsurpassed  and 
whose  loss  was  irreparable.  He  with  Breckinridge,  under- 
stood and  was  fully  sensible  of — as  indicated  by  the  very 
seriousness  of  his  countenance — the  unwisdom  of  this  move 
and  as  shown  in  their  protest  to  Bragg.  What  a  pity  that 
a  strict  observance  of  military  rule  compelled  it  to  be 
obeyed  against  his  mature  military  mind  and  judgment, 
causing  the  loss  of  such  a  magnificent  soldier  and  gentle- 
man— uselessly  and  foolishly. 

Comtemplating  this  awful  sacrifice,  as  he  rode  by  the 
dead  and  dying  in  the  rear  of  our  lines,  General  Breckin- 
ridge, with  tears  falling  from  his  eyes,  was  heard  to  say  in 
tones  of  anguish,  "My  poor  Orphans !  My  poor  Orphans !" 
little  thinking  that  he  was  dedicating  to  them  a  name  that 
will  live  throughout  the  annals  of  time  and  crown  the  his- 
tory of  that  dear  little  band  with  everlasting  immortality. 

I  have  tried  to  give  you  above  a  description  from  mem- 
ory's tablet — of  the  battle  of  Murfreesboro,  and  I  shall  now 
relate  some  of  my  observations  made  on  my  recent  visit 
together  with  further  references,  to  the  events  that  tran- 
spired on  that  eventful  field — the  study  of  which  is  of  al- 
most overwhelming  interest. 

A  VISIT  TO  MUEFKEESBOKO  IN  1912. 

Here,  as  elsewhere  and  on  other  fields,  the  view  is  espe- 
cially and  particularly  interesting,  because  of  the  country 
being  more  level  and  more  open  with  the  view  much  less 
obstructed.    It  was  worth  a  half  dozen  years  to  live  over, 


52  The  Orphan  Brigade. 

in  reminiscence,  this  week  of  intense  excitement,  interest 
and  danger.  And  here  too,  as  at  Chickamauga,  memory 
refused  to  be  satisfied,  and  I  find  myself  wishing  I  could 
see  it  again.  I  feel  that  I  could  never  tire  looking  at  the 
different  aspects  of  the  view  and  studying  the  tragic  scenes 
as  they  transpired  on  this  eventful  closing  of  this  event- 
ful year  of  1862,  and  the  no  less  eventful  opening  of  the 
year  1863.  To  those  who  lived  in  this  historic  decade  and 
participated  in  these  events  of  bygone  years  are  of  in- 
tense and  ever  thrilling  interest,  but  few  realize  that  these 
things  happened  a  half  century  ago. 

Here  as  elsewhere  events  came  back  to  me  and  I  had  but 
little  or  no  difficulty  in  locating  the  leading  and  many  of 
the  minor  places  of  interest. 

The  immediate  vicinity  of  our  long  encampment  is 
changed  considerably  by  houses  being  erected  nearby  and 
on  the  ground  where  our  camps  stood,  but  the  big  spring 
house,  however,  still  does  duty  as  of  yore.  The  place  on 
the  Shelbyville  turnpike  where  we  held  guard  mount  and 
review  is  much  changed.  So  also  are  the  grounds  on  the 
East  side  of  the  city  where  we  held  brigade  and  division 
drill,  it  now  being  "built  up."  But  one  of  the  leading 
landmarks  of  the  town  and  of  special  interest  to  the  Or- 
phans and  other  Kentuckians  is  still  intact  and  but  little 
changed  in  appearance  but  now  used  for  a  different  pur- 
pose. I  refer  to  the  Judge  Ready  residence  where  General 
Morgan  captured  his  grand  prize.  There  is  not  an  old 
Orphan  now  living,  that  does  not  remember  how  he  used 
to  primp  for  the  march  by  this  house,  and  how  proudly  he 
stepped  and  with  what  perfect  mien  he  marched  to  Billy 
McQuown's  best  pieces,  all  to  have  the  privilege  of  "show- 
ing off,"  and  having  the  opportunity  for  a  sly  glance  at  the 
beautiful  Queen  sisters  standing  on  the  upper  veranda. 
You  know,  old  boys,  just  how  this  was,  don't  you? 

But  my  mind  is  taking  me  back  to  the  battlefield  where 
the  things  of  real  excitement  were  transpiring,  where  "the 


The  Orphan  Brigade.  53 

pride,  pomp  and  circumstances  of  glorious  war  are  to  be 
found." 

Starting  out  in  company  with  Kev.  Everett  Smith,  we 
took  the  Nashville  pike  crossing  the  river  at  the  same  place 
we  crossed  when  on  the  retreat  from  Bowling  Green  to 
Shiloh  in  February,  1862,  and  where  I  had  crossed  several 
times  while  encamped  later,  near  the  town  and  over  and 
beyond  which  I  saw  the  celebrated  cavalry  charge  and  the 
victorious  columns  of  the  Confederates  move  on  December 
31.  My  mind  was  so  completely  occupied  and  crowded  that 
I  scarcely  knew  what  to  do  or  say.  I  know  I  must  have 
been  a  study,  to  my  young  friend  for  a  time  at  least. 

I  could  see  again  in  imagination  the  smoke  and  red 
fire  and  could  hear  the  crackling  flames  as  they  leaped  high 
in  air  of  the  famous  "Cowan"  house  as  we  rode  by.  I 
imagined  as  we  rode  on  that  I  could  hear  the  yells  and 
shouts  of  the  contending  lines  as  they  surged  forward  and 
across  the  turnpike  to  the  famous  cut  in  the  railroad,  where 
Wood  and  Sheridan  saved  the  day  to  the  Federals  against 
the  last  grand  charge  of  Cleburne,  Preston  and  Pillow  of 
the  Confederates. 

As  before  stated  here  is  a  fitting  place  for  the  six  thou- 
sand Federals  who  rest  here.  Here  at  the  cemetery,  I  was 
introduced  to  Captain  Thomas,  the  officer  in  charge,  who 
was  exceedingly  polite  and  courteous  and  whom  I  found  by 
conversing  with,  that  I  had  faced  at  Shiloh  and  who  had 
the  most  perfect  recollection  of  many  of  the  chief  points 
and  incidents  of  that  battle.  I  regretted  very  much  that 
I  could  not  spend  more  time  with  him,  as  he  impressed  me 
as  being  a  man  after  my  own  heart.  But  my  young  friend 
and  myself  had  promised  to  be  back  at  the  dinner  hour 
and  I  was  therefore,  compelled  to  close  my  interview. 

I  spent  the  afternoon  in  glancing  over  town  and  meet- 
ing and  conversing  with  old  soldiers  and  others  whom  I 
found  interested  in  my  mission,  and  willing  and  anxious 
to  give  me  any  information  I  desired. 

I  met  and  arranged  with  Captain  Mitchell,  who  now 
owns  a  part  of  the  field  over  which  the  celebrated  charge 


54  The  Orphan  Brigade. 

of  Breckinridge  was  made,  to  go  out  with  me  next  morn- 
ing and  in  company  with  him  and  a  young  friend,  W.  H. 
Hohgatt,  of  Pittsburgh,  Pa.  We  started  early,  going  over 
the  same  road,  crossing  the  same  bridge,  as  the  day  before 
to  a  point  near  the  cemetery  where  the  road  to  McFad- 
den's  ford  leaves  the  turnpike  and  runs  North  by  the  bluff, 
the  famous  bluff  where  Rosecrans'  fifty-eight  pieces  of  ar- 
tillery were  stationed  that  wrought  such  dreadful  havoc 
upon  Breckinridge's  men  as  they  moved  across  the  fields  to 
attack  Beatty  and  Growes  (the  decoy)  on  the  other  side 
of  the  river,  here  we  crossed  the  river  at  the  lower  ford, 
so  famous  in  history  but  which  is  properly  known  as  Mc- 
Fadden's.  Here  we  "tied  up"  and  in  company  with  my 
companions  we  took  to  the  fields  and  woods,  which  latter 
exist  now  in  fancy  only.  Up  the  gradual  slope  we  go 
to  the  crest  of  the  ridge  (now  a  cotton  patch)  to  where 
Beatty  and  Growe  were  stationed,  swinging  around 
as  we  go  to  the  point  overlooking  the  river  on  which 
stood  the  massive  oaks  where  the  Sixth  Kentucky,  led 
by  that  incarnate  demon  of  war,  "Old  Joe"  Lewis,  with 
flashing  sword  and  blazing  eyes,  more  terrible  than  the  eyes 
of  a  raging  lion  and  who  impressed  me  as  I  was  never 
impressed  before  or  since,  with  the  devil  in  human  form. 
He  presented  a  picture  at  that  time  I  shall  never  forget. 
It  is  as  grimly  and  immovably  fixed  in  my  mind  as  the  sun 
and  the  stars  and  I  become  enthusiastic  whenever  I  think 
of  him  and  the  incident.  Now  we  move  along  the  crest 
Northward  to  the  point  where  the  Fourth  Kentucky  struck 
Beatty's  line.  Looking  East  and  South  towards  the  Leb- 
anon pike,  we  can  see  the  vicinity  where  we  started  in  the 
charge  about  midway  between  the  crest  and  the  pike.  Turn- 
ing around  we  can  look  down  the  North  slope  of  the  ridge 
and  over  which  we  pressed  Beatty  and  the  right  of  Growes' 
brigade  to  McFadden's  ford,  dropping  into,  as  we  move 
down  the  narrow  sag  or  depression  that  leads  from  the  top 
of  the  hill  straight  to  the  ford  and  which  furnished  the  only 
protection  from  the  murderous  fire  of  the  fifty-eight  guns 


The  Orphan  Brigade.  55 

massed  on  the  bluff.  Out  of  this  depression,  going  or 
coming,  we  were  exposed  to  this  dreadful  and  incessant 
fire.  Opposite  to  and  some  forty  yards  from  this  ford  is 
the  picket  fence  where  we  were  compelled  to  halt  and  which 
is  so  well  remembered  by  many  of  the  Orphans. 

The  Federals  passed  around  the  end  of  this  fence,  they 
being  acquainted  with  the  situation,  but  we  struck  it 
square  and  were  compelled  to  halt.  Just  outside  and  along 
this  picketing  were  piled  the  enemy's  drums  and  upon 
which  the  minnie  balls  from  their  new  and  supporting  line 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river  were  beating  a  funeral 
dirge  for  many  of  our  dear  boys  who  were  here  compelled 
to  halt  and  die  to  no  purpose  whatever.  I  walked  along 
this  picket  fence,  which  looks  just  as  it  did  then,  but  of 
course  has  been  rebuilt,  and  over  the  very  ground  on  which 
my  dear  Captain  Bramblett  fell  and  with  whom  I  ex- 
changed glances  a  moment  before.  To  give  expression  to 
my  feelings  as  I  contemplated  this  last  glance,  this  look  in 
life  at  my  dear  friend  and  leader  is  impossible  and  I  turn 
away  with  sickened  heart  from  the  fatal  spot  and  retrace 
my  steps  over  the  field  to  the  rallying  point,  every  step  of 
the  way  marked  by  exploding  shells  and  flying  shot  from 
the  enemy's  battery  of  fifty-eight  guns  which  seemed  de- 
termined to  show  no  mercy  at  all. 

Lest  some  one  may  say  I  am  magnifying  this  story  of 
the  "battery  on  the  bluff"  I  will  quote  here  verbatim  from 
the  tablet  on  the  twenty-foot  granite  monument  which 
marks  the  place  occupied  by  these  guns  to  mark  the  place 
from  which  the  death-dealing  shot  and  shell  were  hurled 
that  resulted  in  the  death  of  so  many  of  Kentucky's  noble 
and  brave  boys. 

I  understand  this  monument  was  erected  by  the  presi- 
dent of  one  of  the  great  railway  systems,  the  N.  C.  &  St.  L., 
who  had  participated  in  the  famous  charge.  It  is  the  most 
interesting  and  historic  point  of  all  the  very  interesting 
points  of  this  eventful  field.  It  was  with  awe  and  over- 
powering wonder  and  feeling  that  I  indulged  the  scenes 


56  The  Orphan  Beigade. 

of  fifty  years  ago,  enacted  on  this  spot.  Here  the  very 
earth  trembled  beneath  the  thunderings  of  these  fifty-eight 
cannon,  sending  death  and  destruction  into  the  ranks  of 
us  poor  unfortunate  Confederates. 

The  tablet  upon  this  monument  reads  as  follows : 

"On  January  2,  1863,  at  three  p.  m.,  there  were  sta- 
tioned on  this  hill,  fifty-eight  cannon  commanding  the  field 
across  the  river  and  as  the  Confederates  advanced  over  this 
field  the  shot  and  shell  from  these  guns  resulted  in  a  loss 
of  1,800  killed  and  wounded  in  less  than  one  hour." 

What  a. harvest  of  death  in  so  short  a  time  was  wrought 
by  shot  and  shell !  The  most  of  whose  victims  were  muti- 
lated and  lacerated  beyond  recognition  or  description.  Had 
the  earth  been  torn  by  an  earthquake  the  scene  would  not 
have  been  more  terrible  and  hideously  appalling. 

On  a  board  marker,  near  by,  in  faded  letters  is  this 
indefinite  inscription : 

"Col.  S.  Mat ,  Third  Division  14th  A.  C.  Fed , 

Col.  S.  W.  Price  commanding.  Holding  Lower  Ford,  Dec. 
31,  1862." 

This  evidently  refers  to  the  battery  that  played  upon 
Cobb  and  Slocum  on  Swain's  Hill. 

It  would  seem  from  these  last  words  of  this  poster  that 
the  Federals  were  afraid  on  the  first  day's  fight  that  the 
Confederates  would  attempt  to  turn  their  left  by  crossing 
at  this  ford,  hence  the  placing  of  this  battery  here.  Bragg, 
it  seems,  had  no  such  thought,  and,  however,  it  was  sta- 
tioned in  our  immediate  front,  West  from  Swain's  Hill 
and  as  the  battle  progressed  on  the  plain  South  of  the 
railroad  and  turnpike  it  played  upon  Cobb  and  Slocum 
with  increasing  vigor  and  spirit.  As  before  stated,  the 
Orphans  were  stationed  at  this  time  in  support  to  these 
batteries,  and  it  was  from  this  point  that  I  witnessed  the 
thrilling  sights  on  the  West  side  of  the  river. 

In  company  with  my  new-made  genial  and  accommo- 
dating friend,  W.  G.  Beatty,  whose  father  owned  the  land 
on  which  the  battle  of  the  2nd  was  fought,   I   visited 


The  Orphan  Brigade.  57 

Swain's  Hill,  which  is  evidently  a  mistaken  name  for  the 
place,  no  one  with  whom  I  conversed,  old  or  young,  knew 
it  by  that  name.  I  found  on  the  hill,  which  I  very  readily 
recognized  from  the  distance,  the  old  entrenchments  intact, 
save  from  the  leveling  effects  of  time,  and  on  which  an 
occasional  locust  sapling  is  growing  with  quite  a  thicket 
of  the  same  in  the  immediate  front.  But  from  the  left 
of  this  line  of  works  and  where  I  was  stationed  on  the 
31st  the  view  overlooking  the  railroad,  turnpike  and  plain 
is  perfectly  clear.  From  here  I  looked,  studied  and  won- 
dered. Why  should  I  not  linger  and  contemplate?  Never 
until  the  great  day  of  judgment  do  I  ever  expect  to  wit- 
ness such  a  thrilling  and  awe-inspiring  scene  as  I  here 
witnessed  on  that  eventful  day  of  December  31,  1862. 

Beatty  contemplated  me  with  interest,  if  not  astonish- 
ment. So  intensely  interesting  were  these  scenes  and  recol- 
lections I  was  almost  tempted  to  spend  another  day  con- 
templating and  reviewing  them.  But  we  returned  to  the 
city  at  night  to  attend  a  church  affair  at  the  instance  and 
invitation  of  my  young  friend  from  Bourbon,  Rev.  Everett 
Smith,  whose  guest  I  had  been  while  here. 

I  tried  hard  to  forget  and  partially  succeeded  in  for- 
getting the  thoughts  and  reminiscences  the  day  had  sug- 
gested— in  the  presence  of  so  many  charming  ladies  and 
gallant  gentlemen  of  Brother  Smith's  congregation  and 
the  additional  enjoyment  of  the  ice  cream,  cakes  and  straw- 
berries, my  appetite  of  fifty  years  ago  suddenly  returning 
to  remind  me  of  the  difference  twixt  now  and  then. 

Next  morning  my  friend  Beatty  was  on  hand  early  with 
his  automobile  and  speeded  me  over  the  city  which  I  am 
frank  to  say  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  little  cities  I  ever 
saw.  I  was  charmed  by  the  old  time  warmth  and  hospital- 
ity of  its  people  and  the  greeting  given  me  and  I  shall 
remember  them  as  among  the  happiest  of  my  life.  And  if 
I  were  young  once  more,  I  would  be  almost  tempted  to  cast 


58  The  Orphan  Brigade. 

my  lot  with  these  good  people  in  this  good  country,  both 
of  which  are  the  next  best  to  Kentucky. 

I  must  not  forget  to  remind  the  old  Orphans  and  others 
who  may  read  this  paper  that  after  considerable  inquiry 
I  was  able  to  find  the  old  Haynes  home,  in  which  General 
Hanson  died,  and  which  is  now  occupied  by  Hon.  Jesse 
C.  Beasley,  the  present  Democratic  nominee  for  Congress 
in  this  district.  I  was  shown  through  the  house  by  his 
good  little  wife  who  although  taken  somewhat  by  surprise 
at  my  sudden  and  unexpected  visit,  but  who  courteously 
invited  me  to  examine  and  inspect  until  fully  satisfied. 
I  stood  in  the  room  in  which  he  died  almost  dumfounded 
with  emotion.  Here,  in  the  presence  of  his  heart-broken 
wife,  and  sorrowing  friends  his  life  gradually  ebbed  away 
and.  took  its  flight  to  the  realms  above. 

I  was  reminded  to  tread  lightly  and  speak  softly  on 
this  solemn  occasion,  for  here,  passed  away  into  the  Great 
Beyond  one  of  Kentucky's  grandest  and  greatest  noble- 
men. 

I  attended  that  afternoon,  in  company  with  Captain 
Baird,  Beatty  and  others,  the  anniversary  decoration  of 
the  Confederate  graves  and  listened  to  a  fine  oration  and 
the  delightful  rendering  of  several  appropriate  songs  by 
the  Murfreesboro  quartette.  When  they  sang  "My  Old 
Kentucky  Home,"  I  hugged  tightly,  the  tree  against  which 
I  leaned  and  fear  I  betrayed  a  weakness  for  which  I  am 
not  altogether  ashamed,  for  what  Kentuckian  that  lives, 
especially  when  away  from  home,  whose  soul  is  not  moved, 
when  he  hears  the  sweet  strains  of  this  touching  and  soul 
inspiring  song.  How  can  he,  when  thus  reminded  of  his 
old  Kentucky  home,  keep  from  exclaiming  (in  mind  at 
least)  in  the  language  of  the  poet: 

"Lives  there  a  man  (Kentuckian)  with  soul  so  dead, 

Who  to  himself  hath  not  said,  this  is  my  own,  my 
native  land." 

Before  closing  this  chapter  I  must  not  fail  to  say  that 
I  found  on  this  trip  a  manifestation  of  the  same  liberal 


The  Orphan  Brigade.  59 

hospitable  and  magnanimous  spirit,  that  has  ever  char- 
acterized this  noble  and  self-sacrificing  people.  To  the 
good  women  of  the  South  I  owe  my  life;  to  them  I  bow 
and  acknowledge  obeisance  as  the  truest,  purest,  sweetest 
and  best  of  all  God's  creatures. 

No  sacrifice,  that  mortal  man  could  make  is,  too  great 
a  recompense  for  the  love  and  devotion  of  these  dear 
women  who  sacrificed,  wept  and  suffered  during  the  four 
long  years  of  midnight  darkness.  They  are  the  angels  of 
the  earth  today ;  to  them,  as  such  I  uncover  my  head  and  I 
hail  them. 

Finally  I  wish  to  acknowledge  my  thanks  to  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  C.  D.  Ivie,  at  whose  home  I  was  the  guest  of  my  friend, 
Rev.  Smith  and  his  charming  little  wife.  To  Editor  Wil- 
liams, W.  G.  Beatty,  Captains  Baird  and  Mitchell,  Dr. 
Campbell  and  others,  I  am  indebted  for  many  courtesies 
and  favors. 


CHAPTER  VI.  ? 

LOOKOUT  MOUNTAIN. 
BATTLE  OF  CHICKAMAUGA— 1863. 

I  am  now  attempting  to  write  from  this  Lookout  Moun- 
tain, one  of  the  most  picturesque  as  well  as  interesting 
places  on  the  American  continent.  Near  by  and  round 
about  here  some  of  the  greatest  episodes  in  the  world's 
history  transpired  near  the  close  of  that  eventful  year, 
1863. 

Chickamauga,  Lookout  Mountain,  Missionary  Ridge, 
where  the  lives  of  sixty-five  thousand  Americans  were 
either  destroyed  or  more  or  less  wrecked. 

A  feeling  of  philosophy  and  awe  prompts  me  to  ask 
why  all  this  great  sacrifice  of  human  life,  misery  and  suf- 
fering? 

Was  the  Great  God  that  made  man  now  looking  on 
this  awful  scene  of  carnage  and  woe  again  repenting  that 
He  had  made  wicked,  rebellious  and  murderous  man;  or 
was  it  a  part  of  His  omnipotent  plan  for  man's  inherent 
folly  and  wickedness  driving  him  to  destroy  his  fellow- 
man? 

Whatever  it  was  it  seems  to  have  been  accomplished 
here  amid  these  towering  mountains. 

But  so  it  was  and  I,  one  insignificant  actor  in  the 
grand  drama,  am  still  permitted  to  live  and  recount  some 
of  the  thrilling  scenes  as  they  were  enacted.  It  is  beyond 
my  power  to  describe  minutely  and  correctly  all  the  thril- 
ling sights  that  I  witnessed  on  this  eventful  occasion 
(Battle  of  Chickamauga)  and  I  shall  refer  to  those  only 
that  concern  myself  and  my  Kentucky  comrades,  unless 
incidentally  it  shall  appear  necessary  to  my  story. 

I  will,  therefore,  not  attempt  to  note  the  maneuvering, 
the  marching  and  counter-marching,  back  and  forth,  up 

(60) 


The  Orphan  Brigade.  61 

and  down  the  Chickainauga  Valley,  in  and  about  Ross- 
ville  and  Crawfish  Springs  and  their  vicinity ;  all  of  which, 
at  that  time,  seemed  to  me  was  but  the  waving  of  the  red 
flag  in  the  face  of  Rosecrans  in  "I  dare  you  to  come  out" 
spirit  on  the  part  of  Bragg. 

Whatever  motives,  schemes  and  strategy  it  contained 
we  all  knew,  rank  and  file,  field  and  staff,  that  we  were 
on  the  eve  of  momentous  events.  We  all  knew  that  here 
the  question  of  "Greek  meeting  Greek"  would  soon  again 
be  tested  and  two  of  the  mightiest  armies  of  modern  times 
would  be  locked  in  mortal  combat.  We  had  not  long  to 
wait  for  on  the  morning  of  the  nineteenth  (September 
1863)  an  occasional  boom,  boom,  away  to  the  right  and 
front  told  us  of  the  coming  storm  that  was  about  to  break 
over  and  sweep  Chickamauga  Valley  with  a  mighty  ava- 
lanche of  thunder  and  horror  that  shook  the  very  earth 
itself.  Slowly  but  steadily  the  roar  of  artillery  increased 
and  by  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  became  almost  inces- 
sant. 

Longstreet's  Virginians  had  come  out  to  show  the 
Western  army  how  to  fight  and  they  were  now  learning 
that  Rosecrans'  Western  veterans  could  give  instruc- 
tions in  the  art  of  war  as  well  as  they  and  that  they  were 
not  facing  the  aliens  and  wage  soldiers  that  constituted 
a  large  part  of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac.  They  also 
found,  as  the  battle  progressed,  that  the  Western  army 
of  the  South  knew  as  well  and  were  as  willing  to  "stand 
up  Johnnie"  and  give  and  take  blow  for  blow  as  they.  The 
evening  wore  on  and  occasional  reports  from  the  front 
brought  news  that  the  Confederates  were  holding  their 
own  and  a  little  better. 

Meantime  the  "Orphans"  were  on  the  move  toward  the 
front  and  facing  the  enemy's  moving  column  on  the  Chat- 
tanooga road,  which  led  to  Rossville  and  near  Glass'  Mill, 
at  which  place  the  artillery  of  Breckinridge's  division, 
commanded  by  the  gallant  Major  Graves,  engaged  the 
enemies  in  one  of  the  fiercest  artillery  duels  it  was  my 


62  The  Orphan  Brigade. 

pleasure  to  witness  during  the  war.  I  say  pleasure  advis- 
edly, for  it  was  a  magnificent  sight  to  see  from  where  I 
was  stationed  Graves  moving  among  his  men  and  direct- 
ing their  every  action,  which  was  done  with  an  admirable 
celerity  and  precision  that  was  perfectly  charming.  I 
must  here  do  Graves  the  honor  to  say  that  he  was  the 
most  perfect  military  man  I  ever  saw.  But  this  was  but 
the  prelude  to  the  play  of  the  morrow ;  both  parties  seem- 
ing (after  a  half  hour's  engagement)  to  say  we  will  settle 
tomorrow.    "Sunday  is  a  better  day." 

Shifting  our  position  to  Lee  and  Gordon's  Mill,  fur- 
ther down  the  Chickamauga,  in  the  afternoon,  we  here 
awaited  developments  and  that  night  made  a  long  detour 
and  crossed  at  Alexander's  Bridge,  several  miles  down  the 
river.  Next  morning  we  found  ourselves  on  the  extreme 
right  of  the  dividing  line  of  the  stage  of  action  marked 
out  by  the  respective  commanders  for  the  grand  tragedy 
that  day  to  be  enacted  upon  the  stage  of  war.  Early,  very 
early  the  Fourth  Kentucky  Skirmishers  ( and  I  here  glory 
in  the  fact)  had  the  honor  of  firing  the  first  shots  in  the 
opening  that  day  of  the  greatest  battle  ever  fought  on  the 
American  continent,  if  not  the  greatest  in  modern  times. 
This  assertion  may  be  called  in  question  by  critics,  but  if 
I  mistake  not  there  were  more  men  killed  and  wounded  at 
Chickamauga  than  in  any  other  engagement  of  the  war. 

Here  the  old  and  somewhat  sacrilegious  saying  of  "Hell 
broke  loose  in  Georgia"  was  fully  and  forcefully  empha- 
sized by  the  almost  continuous  thundering  of  200  cannons 
that  made  the  very  earth  tremble,  besides  the  constant 
rattle  of  musketry  and  the  shouts  of  more  than  a  hundred 
thousand  struggling  combatants  determined  on  each 
other's  destruction.  Americans  all,  and  all  for  what? 
That  a  God-made  inferior  race  might  occupy  the  same 
plane  with  the  superior  was  the  object  of  one,  while  that 
right  was  disputed  by  the  other.  But  I  fear  I  may  be 
digressing  somewhat  from  the  original  purpose  in  these 
chapters.    Still  these  thoughts  are  hard  to  suppress.    Ee- 


The  Orphan  Brigade.  63 

viewing  the  incidents  of  the  great  battle  and  the  part 
played  by  Kentucky  Confederates  I  return  to  the  skirmish 
line  of  the  Fourth  Kentucky,  which  covered  the  front  of 
the  Orphan  Brigade  and  which  was  commanded  by  Col. 
Joe  Nuckols,  who  was  wounded  at  the  very  outset  of  the 
engagement  and  compelled  to  leave  the  field. 

The  writer  was  the  subject  at  this  particular  time  and 
place  of  the  most  ridiculous  and  practical  joke  of  his  entire 
war  experience,  but  which  (thanks  to  the  Bill  of  Rights) 
he  is  not  here  compelled  to  relate.  This  was  the  begin- 
ning of  that  chapter  in  the  history  of  the  Orphan  Brigade, 
which  took  the  lives  and  blood  of  so  many  noble  Ken- 
tuckians  to  write.  In  the  first  and  desperate  onset,  led  by 
the  noble  and  intrepid  Helm,  whose  name  is  a  household 
word  with  almost  all  Kentuckians,  fell  here,  together  with 
Graves,  Hewitt,  Dedman,  Daniel,  Maderia  and  other 
officers  of  the  line,  and  many  splendid  men  of  the  Second 
and  Ninth  Eegiments,  who  paid  with  their  lives  tribute 
to  Mars  and  added  to  Kentucky's  old  traditional  glory 
and  renown. 

Three  regiments  on  the  right,  Fourth,  Sixth  and  Forty- 
First  Alabama,  swept  everything  before  them — the  enemy 
being  in  the  open  field.  But  the  Second  and  Ninth  en- 
countered the  enemies'  breastworks  and  were  repulsed 
with  terrible  slaughter.  Here  was  where  the  officers  just 
mentioned  fell  in  one  of  the  most  desperate  struggles  of 
the  day.  Here  "Pap  Thomas'  "  veterans  took  advantage 
of  their  works  and  exacted  deep  and  merciless  toll.  More 
than  once  during  the  day  was  this  position  assailed  by 
other  bodies  of  Confederates  with  similar  results.  About 
the  middle  of  the  afternoon  the  assembling  of  Cheatham's 
and  Walker's  division  in  conjunction  with  Breckinridge 
warned  us  that  the  fatal  moment  had  arrived  and  the  hour 
of  desperation  was  at  hand. 

The  old  veteran  needs  no  one  to  tell  him  when  a  crisis 
is  approaching,  he  instinctively  and  otherwise  compre- 
hends the  meaning  of  these  movements  and  nerves  himself 


64  The  Orphan  Brigade. 

for  the  desperate  work  before  him.  His  countenance 
would  convince  the  stoic  of  what  his  mind  contained,  in 
modern  parlance  he  "understands  the  game."  When  the 
signal  gun  was  fired  we  knew  its  meaning,  so  also  did  the 
enemy.  Then  three  lines  in  solid  phalanx,  desperate  and 
determined  men,  moved  forward  on  the  Federal  strong- 
hold to  be  met  by  a  withering  and  blighting  fire  from  the 
enemy  behind  their  works.  But  so  furious  and  desperate 
was  the  onslaught  that  Thomas'  veterans,  who  had  with- 
stood all  previous  attempts  to  dislodge  them,  could  no 
longer  face  the  line  of  gleaming  bayonets  of  the  Confed- 
erates as  they  leaped  over  the  breastworks  the  Federals 
had  so  successfully  defended  up  to  that  hour. 

Some  surrendered,  others  made  their  escape  and  still 
others  met  their  doom — many,  not  hearing  the  shouts  of 
the  victorious  Confederates  as  they  rushed  over  and  among 
them. 

This  was  the  culmination  of  the  struggle.  Similar 
movements  with  similar  results  were  taking  place  simul- 
taneously all  along  the  line,  closing  the  most  stupendous 
struggle  of  the  war.  But  at  this  particular  point  and  at 
Snodgrass  Hill,  where  the  Fifth  Kentucky  contributed 
additional  and  unsurpassed  glory  to  Kentucky's  part  in 
the  great  battle,  were  the  keys  to  Kosecrans'  position, 
and  here  the  fighting  was  the  hardest  and  the  losses 
heaviest. 

In  the  first  charge  in  the  morning  where  the  right  of 
the  brigade  was  so  successful,  we  captured  a  section  of  the 
enemy's  artillery.  The  writer  seized  the  trunnion  of  one 
of  the  guns  and  with  assistance  turned  it  on  them  while 
the  other  was  turned  by  others  of  our  men ;  but  we  could 
find  no  ammunition  to  fire  them  and  were  deprived  of  the 
anticipated  glory  of  firing  on  the  enemy  as  they  fled  from 
the  field.  I  wish  here,  and  in  my  feeble  way,  to  lift  my  hat 
to  do  honor  to  the  gallantry  of  the  captain  commanding 
that  battery  (who  I  learned  was  from  Indiana)  as  doing 
the  most  daring  and  chivalrous  act  I  ever  saw  performed 


The  Orphan  Brigade.  65 

by  an  enemy  during  my  entire  war  experience.  Both  his 
lieutenants  and  a  number  of  his  men  having  been  killed 
before  he  abandoned  his  guns,  which  were  in  a  battery 
just  on  the  West  side  of  the  Chickamauga  road  and  in  the 
face  of  us  Confederates,  who  had  reached  the  East  side 
of  the  road,  he  dashed  into  the  road  and  past  us,  lifting 
hite  hat  and  waving  us  a  salute  that  would  have  put  to 
shame  a  Chesterfield  or  a  Prince  Rupert.  The  act  was 
almost  paralyzing  and  not  a  man  of  the  fifty  or  more  who 
fired  at  him  point  blank  touched  him  or  his  horse.  If 
there  is  such  a  thing  as  a  charmed  life,  this  captain  must 
have  possessed  it  on  that  occasion.  If  living  I  would 
gladly  travel  miles  to  shake  his  hand. 

Our  next  move  was  to  unite  our  separated  line  which 
we  did  by  retiring  later  on  to  the  point  from  where  we 
started. 

During  the  occasional  lulls  in  the  musketry  firing  the 
artillery  from  left  to  right  and  especially  on  the  left  about 
Snodgrass  Hill,  was  thundering  defiance  and  sending 
death  into  each  other's  ranks  that  seemingly  made  old 
earth  shake  from  center  to  circumference,  set  the  birds  to 
flight,  caused  reptiles,  lizzards  and  all  manner  of  wild 
animals  to  flee  from  the  wrath  of  murderous  man,  among 
which  was  a  cotton-tail  deer  that  was  seen  by  some  of  the 
men  running  in  a  bewildered  and  dazed  manner  in  the 
rear  of  the  contending  lines,  not  knowing  which  way  to 
flee  or  what  it  all  meant. 

The  enemy  routed,  the  conflict  ceased — about  dark — 
with  the  Orphans  (those  left)  on  the  West  side  of  the 
Chickamauga  road,  some  of  the  men  playfully  astride  the 
enemy's  guns — several  in  number — that  had  been  aban- 
doned at  this  point,  others  prostrate  on  the  ground  rest- 
ing and  recounting  incidents  of  the  day,  all  glad  enough 
that  it  was  over. 

Here  General  Buckner  rode  up,  he  having  come  over 
from  the  left  where  his  artillery  and  division  of  infantry  had 
done  such  splendid  work  and  who  was  greeted  with  a  cheer 


66  The  Orphan  Brigade. 

from  the  surviving  Orphans  that  must  have  done  his  soul 
good  and  which  he  acknowledged  with  a  smile,  lifting  his 
hat  gracefully  in  acknowledgment  of  the  greeting. 

What  next!  We  all  expected  that  we  would  follow 
immediately  without  an  hour's  delay  on  the  heels  of  the 
retreating  and  discomfited  Federals  and  overtake  and 
completely  route  and  possibly  capture  them  before  they 
could  get  settled  behind  their  fortifications  around  Chat- 
tanooga. But  here  the  fatal  mistake  of  Beauregard  at 
Shiloh  (and  for  which  Bragg  censured  him)  was  dupli- 
cated by  Bragg  himself. 

Back  to  the  field  among  the  boys  where  we  spent  the 
night  among  the  dead  and  wounded ;  and  awaiting  order® 
from  Bragg,  who  was  spending  his  time  in  sending  con- 
gratulations to  President  Davis  while  Rosecrans  was  busy 
preparing  to  receive  and  entertain  him  from  his  fortifica- 
tions around  Chattanooga. 

The  writer  having  learned  that  we  would  likely  spend 
the  day  on  the  field  resting — "resting"  ( I  toss  my  head  in 
derision  of  the  thought),  obtained  permission  to  visit  and 
inspect  the  field  of  battle,  and  in  company  with  one  or  two 
comrades  started  early  next  morning  from  the  extreme 
right,  where  we  opened  the  battle,  and  traversed  the  entire 
length  of  the  field,  a  distance  of  seven  miles  or  more. 
This  was  the  first  time  such  an  enviable  opportunity  had 
ever  presented  itself  and  I  seized  it  gladly,  notwithstand- 
ing the  many  horrible  and  ghastly  sights  I  knew  I  would 
see.  On  every  hand,  in  every  direction,  were  evidences  of 
the  desperate  conflict  of  the  preceding  day.  The  forest 
trees  splintered  and  torn  by  the  plunging  shot  and  shell 
from  the  cannon's  deadly  throat,  dismantled  caissions  and 
artillery  wheels,  dead  horses,  guns,  cartridge  boxes,  bayo- 
nets and  almost  every  kind  of  war  paraphernalia  imagin- 
able were  strewn  promiscuously  over  the  field.  Trees  and 
saplings,  not  larger  than  a  man's  body  to  a  height  of  six 
or  eight  feet,  contained  from  a  dozen  to  as  high  as  sixty  rifle 
balls.     But  worst  of  all  with  upturned  faces  and  glaring 


The  Orphan  Brigade.  67 

eyes,  torn  and  mangled  bodies  of  not  less  than  four  thou- 
sand dead  men  on  the  field  and  at  the  hospitals.  At  the 
latter,  especially  at  the  Snodgrass  place,  there  were  acres 
covered  with  wounded  and  many  dead.  Here  I  witnessed 
the  most  appalling  sight  my  eyes  ever  beheld,  a  descrip- 
tion from  which  I  shudder  and  shrink  at  this  distant  day, 
and  which  is  too  terrible  for  delicate  and  sensitive  natures 
to  ponder;  and  which  involuntarily  reminds  me  of  Sher- 
man's saying  again.  The  citizens  of  today  will  doubtless 
wonder  how  any  man  could  escape  such  a  rain  of  shot  and 
shell,  but  by  the  old  soldier  it  is  readily  understood.  While 
ninety  per  cent  of  these  shots  were  being  fired  the  men 
were  lying  flat  on  their  faces  and  were  overshooting  each 
other  when  suddenly  one  or  the  other  would  spring  to  his 
feet  and  with  a  bound  and  a  yell  rush  at  a  double-quick 
upon  their  foe,  giving  him  time  to  fire  one  or  at  most  two 
rounds  when  his  ranks  would  be  broken  and  compelled  to 
retire. 

After  seeing  these  appalling  sights  I  retraced  my  steps 
and  reached  the  starting  point  about  twilight  to  find  that 
my  command  had  been  ordered  forward  toward  Chatta- 
nooga and  the  vicinity  of  Missionary  Ridge,  which  we 
reached  next  day  to  find  Rosecrans  occupying  his  fortifica- 
tions and  redoubts  ready  to  receive  and  entertain  us.  We 
were  formed  in  line  of  battle  at  or  near  the  foot  of  Mis- 
sionary Ridge  and  expected  when  the  formation  was  com- 
pleted to  be  hurled  against  the  forts  and  redoubts  to  cer- 
tain and  inevitable  destruction. 

Many  expressions  of  evil  and  forebodings  of  disaster 
were  indulged  in  and  anathemas  were  hurled  at  the  com- 
mander without  stint  for  holding  us  back  for  this,  the 
hour  of  our  doom.  Many  farewells  were  being  exchanged, 
mingled  with  jeers  and  sarcasm,  all  knowing  and  under- 
standing fully  the  gravity  of  the  situation.  It  was  an 
hour  of  intense,  of  dreadful  suspense,  which  could  only 
be  felt  and  not  described. 

But  thanks  to  an  allwise  and  merciful  Providence 
which  at  the  last  moment  withheld  the  hand  and  changed 


68  The  Orphan  Brigade. 

the  mind  that  commanded.  But  for  this  change  of  mind 
he  who  writes  this  story  would  doubtless  now  be  "sleep- 
ing the  sleep  that  knows  no  waking  on  fame's  eternal 
camping  ground."  When  we  were  ordered  to  retire  to 
Missionary  Ridge  many  were  the  longdrawn  sighs  of  relief 
that  we  had  escaped  from  this  threatened  and,  as  we  felt, 
certain  doom. 

THE  WRITER'S  VISIT  TO  CHICKAMAUGA— 
IN  MAY,  1912. 

I  have  visited  scenes  of  the  great  conflict  twice,  tra- 
versed the  very  ground  from  the  point  where  we  formed 
line  of  battle  and  moved  to  the  charge  against  "Pap" 
Thomas'  veterans  and  am  still  unsatisfied.  Not  that  the 
points  of  greatest  interest  have  been  lost  to  memory,  but 
because  memory  will  not  be  satisfied.  I  can  see  in  my 
mind  the  anxious  look  in  the  faces  of  those  brave  Ken- 
tucky boys,  as  they  stepped  into  line  and  touched  elbows 
in  obedience  to  the  commands  "dress  to  the  right;  dress 
to  the  left;  steady,  steady,  men;  quick  step,  forward, 
march !" 

Tell  me  I  shall  ever  forget  these  commands  or  this 
hour!  Never,  while  "memory  lasts  and  reason  holds 
sway." 

Prom  this  very  starting  point  I  traced  the  ground  over 
which  we  moved  (in  1863)  taking  the  monument  erected 
to  the  memory  of  General  Helm  as  a  guide  and  allowing 
for  the  space  of  the  two  regiments  to  occupy  the  right, 
coursing  Westward,  the  exact  direction  we  moved,  cross- 
ing the  LaFayette  road  at  or  near  the  very  point  where 
the  two  pieces  of  artillery  were  captured  and  previously 
referred  to.  The  tablet  here  tells  me  who  my  gallant  cap- 
tain of  Indiana  (Bridges)  was  and  recites  the  facts  of  the 
capture  correctly.  There,  too,  is  the  open  field  through 
which  the  broken  regiments  of  infantry  were  fleeing  that 


The  Orphan  Brigade.  69 

I  was  so  anxious  to  assist  with  shots  from  their  own 
battery. 

Here  I  must  criticise  a  little  at  the  risk  of  censure.  I 
will  do  so  by  quoting  from  memory,  not  literally,  from 
Gen.  Breckinridge's  official  report  saying,  "That  a  strong 
supporting  line  at  this  moment,  thrown  on  Thomas'  flank 
and  rear,  would  have  resulted  in  dislodging  and  over- 
throwing Thomas  early  in  the  day."  This  was  plain  to 
line  and  field  officer  alike.  The  opportunity  was  presented 
but  not  availed  of;  why,  I  know  not. 

The  tablets  here  with  their  historic  record  briefly 
stamped  in  metal  are  substantially  correct.  My  version 
of  the  battle  previously  stated  to  the  guides  while  going 
out  (I.  P.  Thoeford,  an  old  Confederate)  and  S.  P.  Black 
were  so  nearly  identical  that  these  men  threw  up  their 
hands  in  amazement  when  I  read  from  the  tablet.  It  was 
no  trouble  to  convince  them  that  I  had  been  there  and 
knew  something  about  the  battle  and  the  positions  of  the 
troops  on  that  part  of  the  line.  Here  stands  nearby  the 
Glenn  House,  some  old  log  houses.  Not  far  away  is  the 
Kentucky  monument,  a  fitting  memorial  to  Kentuckians 
of  both  sides  crowned  with  the  Goddess  of  Love  and  Peace. 
Northeast  is  the  monument  to  that  gallant,  lovable  char- 
acter, Ben  Hardin  Helm — my  hand  trembles  as  I  write 
his  name,  for  I  really  believe  he  was  one  of  the  kindest- 
hearted  and  best  men  I  ever  knew.  Near  this  spot  was 
where  so  many  of  the  Second  and  Ninth  fell,  some  of 
whose  names  are  already  mentioned  in  this  chapter  on 
Chickamauga.  I  could  write  much,  very  much,  more  of 
this  very  interesting  and  historic  field,  but  will  not  tres- 
pass further  on  your  time  and  space. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

MISSIONARY  RIDGE. 

KENTUCKY   CONFEDERATE   VISITS   SCENES   OF 
BATTLE  AND  SIEGE  DURING  CIVIL  WAR. 

From  here  (Missionary  Ridge)  about  the  last  of  Sep- 
tember the  Orphans  were  sent  to  Tyner  Station  as  a  base 
from  which  to  guard  the  commissary  stores  at  Chicka- 
mauga  Station,  that  place  being  the  depot  of  supplies  for 
the  army  investing  Chattanooga. 

But  when  it  was  seen  that  Grant,  who  had  arrived  and 
assumed  command  of  the  Federal  Army,  was  planning  to 
move  on  our  lines  on  Lookout  and  Missionary  Ridge,  we 
were  ordered  back  to  our  original  position  on  the  Ridge, 
not  far  from  Bragg's  headquarters.  From  this  point  we 
could  see  on  the  night  of  the  24th  of  November  the  flashes 
from  the  rifles  of  the  contending  lines  on  Lookout,  like  so 
many  fireflies  on  a  hot  July  evening. 

The  extravagant  talk  about  Hooker's  "battle  above  the 
clouds"  is  a  misnomer,  that  has  found  its  way  into  print, 
and  for  a  long  time  filled  the  papers  and  magazines  and 
is  nothing  but  a  magnified  myth  (unsupported  by  facts) 
that  is  absolutely  incredible.  At  no  time  were  the  con- 
tending forces  more  than  half  way  up  the  mountain,  and 
all  the  glory  arrogated  by  the  Federals  was  achieved  over 
a  light  line  deployed  as  skirmishers,  composed  of  Ala- 
bamans. For  a  long  time  this  twaddle  was  absolutely  and 
positively  sickening. 

But  I  must  return  to  my  beloved  Orphans.  Next  morn- 
ing (25th)  before  daylight  we  were  ordered  to  the  ex- 
treme right  (Northern  point  of  the  Ridge)  as  support  to 
Cleburne's  division,  a  man  who  was  never  known  to  ask 
for  support.  This  move  was  a  complete  waste  of  that 
important  element  of  strength  at  this  critical  and  all- 

(™) 


The  Orphan  Brigade.  71 

important  time,  for  we,  the  Orphans,  rendered  practically 
no  service  at  all  on  that  eventful  day.  But  here  I  conjec- 
ture and  philosophize  again.  May  be  and  perhaps  it  was 
providential,  for  had  we  kept  our  place  in  the  line  between 
and  among  Cobb's  guns,  "Lady  Breckinridge,"  "Lady 
Buckner"  and  "Lady  Helm,"  and  his  other  guns  to  which 
the  Orphans  were  lovingly  endeared,  they  would  never 
have  been  surrendered  while  a  man  was  on  his  feet.  Lucky 
indeed  for  Sheridan  and  Wood  that  day  that  the  Orphans 
were  away  from  home,  and  perhaps  equally  lucky  for 
some,  if  not  all,  of  us,  for  we  had  sworn  never  to  abandon 
this  position  while  a  man  of  us  lived. 

This,  in  my  mind,  was  the  strongest  natural  position 
with  one  exception  (Rockyface  Gap)  ever  held  by  the 
Confederate  forces  in  the  West,  and  its  abandonment  was 
a  disgrace  to  Confederate  arms.  Imagine  our  mortifica- 
tion and  deep  chagrin  when  we  learned  that  our  battery — 
Cobb's — with  the  endearing  names  inscribed  thereon,  had 
been  cowardly  abandoned  after  we  had  successfully  de- 
fended them  at  Shiloh,  Vicksburg,  Baton  Rouge,  Mur- 
freesboro,  Jackson,  Chickamauga  and  other  places.  It 
was  enough  to  make  an  angel  weep  and  justified  the 
anathemas  hurled  at  the  commander  and  the  cowardly 
troops  that  were  left  to  defend  them.  The  circumstance 
left  a  sting  that  never  can  be  forgotten  while  an  Orphan 
survives. 

We  never  knew  what  had  happened  until  about  dark, 
when  we  were  ordered  from  our  position  toward  Chick- 
amauga Station.  Then  the  truth  took  first  the  form  of 
conjecture,  then  misgiving  and  lastly  the  sad  news  that 
we  were  to  cover  the  retreat  of  the  army.  Then  all  was 
explained. 

The  retreat  that  night  was  one  of  intense  hardship  and 
excitement,  and  it  was  entrusted  to  the  Orphan  Brigade, 
with  the  help  of  Cleburne's  division,  to  protect  the  retreat- 
ing army.  We  were  in  their  grasp  had  they  only  known 
it.     Passing  so  near  one  of  their  pursuing  columns  we 


72  The  Orphan  Brigade. 

could  actually  hear  them  talking  and  see  them  moving 
around  the  camp  fires  they  were  kindling.  To  prevent 
being  ambushed  we  threw  out  a  string  of  guards  on  both 
sides  of  the  road,  who  moved  along  parallel  with  the  road 
and  near  it.     Every  moment  we  expected  an  attack. 

The  feeling  was  one  of  intenseness  and  we  were  greatly 
relieved  when  at  last  we  became  assured  of  our  escape. 

Had  the  Federals  only  known  it,  they  had  our  retreat- 
ing column  cut  in  two  and  could  have  made  a  finish  of  the 
day's  work  and  probably  the  Confederacy  as  well. 

But  they,  too,  as  well  as  the  Confederates,  failed  some- 
times to  grasp  their  opportunities.  One  of  the  pleasant 
and  enjoyable  features  of  this  night's  experience  was  the 
wading  of  Chickamauga  Kiver,  waist  deep,  which  had  a 
tendency  to  further  exasperate  us  and  cause  the  men  to 
express  themselves  in  anything  but  Sunday  school  phrase 
and  song. 

Next  day  was  but  little  less  exciting.  The  Federal 
advance  was  pressing  us  with  unusual  vigor  and  com- 
pelled us  to  turn  time  and  again  from  the  line  of  march  and 
check  their  advance.  It  was  fight  and  run  until  Cleburne 
determined  to,  and  did,  put  an  end  to  it,  ambushing  them 
at  Ringgold  Gap,  where  they  paid  for  their  persistence 
with  the  lives  of  several  hundred  men. 

After  this  costly  warning  from  Cleburne  we  were  per- 
mitted to  continue  our  retreat  unmolested  and  reached, 
the  next  day,  that  haven  of  rest,  Dalton,  about  which  I 
have  written  in  a  subsequent  chapter. 

I  am  making  my  chapter  on  Mission  Ridge  short  be- 
cause there  is  nothing  pertaining  to  it  that  is  to  the  credit 
of  the  Confederate  soldier  as  a  whole.  Yet  there  were 
some  commands  of  the  army  that  did  their  duty  well  and 
creditably. 

In  looking  at  the  tablets  of  many — in  fact  most  of  the 
Federal  regiments  and  brigades  which  contain  a  sum- 
mary of  their  losses — I  was  struck  with  amazement  at  the 
very  light  loss  sustained  in  this  memorable  engagement,. 


The  Orphan  Beigade.  73 

so  disgraceful  to  the  Confederates.  Some  regiments  los- 
ing only  one  man  killed  and  ten  or  twelve  wounded,  and 
no  brigade,  so  far  as  I  noticed,  lost  more  than  thirteen 
men,  which  was  an  average  of  three  to  the  regiment.  We 
had  a  single  company,  Company  I,  of  the  Fourth  Ken- 
tucky, that  lost  more  men  at  Shiloh  than  a  whole  brigade 
here. 

When  considering  the  great  advantage  of  position 
held  by  them  and  the  insignificant  losses  inflicted  upon 
the  Federals,  the  losses  but  emphasize  the  fact  that  the 
Confederates  must  have  been  badly  rattled  on  this  sum- 
mit and  would  no  doubt  have  made  a  better  fight  from 
their  entrenchments  at  the  base  of  the  mountain  border- 
ing the  valley,  over  which  the  columns  of  Grant  moved  to 
the  attack. 

But  let  us  think  and  reason  for  the  moment,  and  if 
possible  find  some  excuse  for  this  miserable  failure.  It  is 
well  known  to  the  expert  marksman  and  sportsman  as 
well,  that  in  shooting  on  a  steep  decline  you  are  much 
more  apt  to  overshoot  than  when  directing  a  shot  hori- 
zontally or  upward.  This  was  the  case  there  on  these 
steep  mountain  sides,  which  furnishes  the  one  excuse  only 
for  such  bad  marksmanship  and  the  low  per  cent  of  cas- 
ualties just  noticed.  But  notwithstanding  this  fact  a 
much  more  creditable  record  could  have  been  made  by 
rolling  the  huge  boulders  that  were  abundant  down  upon 
the  Federals,  whose  progress  was,  of  course,  necessarily 
slow;  and,  lastly,  when  the  enemy  reached  the  summit 
exhausted,  what  were  their  bayonets  for  and  why  did  they 
not  use  them?  These  are  questions  that  suggest  them- 
selves to  the  mind  of  the  writer  at  this  distant  day,  while 
looking  at  this  natural  and  seeming  impregnable  position. 
As  stated  before,  the  history  on  one  part  of  the  field  would 
have  been  differently  written  had  not  the  Orphans  been 
taken  away  from  their  pets — "Lady  Buckner,"  "Lady 
Breckinridge,"  "Lady  Helm,"  "Lady  Hanson,"  "Lady 
Lyon"  and  others  of  their  companions  in  war.    A  feeling  of 


74  The  Orphan  Brigade. 

chagrin  creeps  over  me  when  I  think  of  the  surrender  of 
these  guns  with  their  endearing  names  and  hitherto  im- 
mortal history. 

But  General  Bragg,  in  his  wisdom —  no,  his  unwisdom 
— thought  it  best  to  send  us  away  from  our  idols  and 
hazard  them  in  the  keeping  of  those  who  betrayed  their 
trust,  and  left  us,  like  Kachael,  weeping,  because  they 
were  lost  and  we  "also  refused  to  be  comforted." 

I  find  almost  innumerable  tablets,  markers  and  monu- 
ments placed  here  to  commemorate  the  deeds  of  valor  here 
performed  by  the  Federals;  but  I  find  very  few  (which  is 
well)  to  mark  the  Confederates  and  their  deeds.  But 
could  I  have  my  way  every  one  of  these  would  be  removed 
and  in  their  stead  I  would  place  the  Goddess  of  Liberty, 
weeping  for  shame  that  her  children  had  so  dishonored 
their  heritage. 

I  have  said  that  I  would  be  brief,  and  choking  back 
the  feeling  of  remorse  and  disgrace  that  this  one  incident 
in  the  history  of  the  Confederate  soldier  has  fixed  upon 
their  otherwise  brilliant  and  incomparable  record,  I  close 
by  referring  the  reader  to  Murfreesboro. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 
DALTON. 

Who  that  spent  the  winter  of  '63-'64  at  Dalton  does 
not  recall  some  circumstance  or  incident  to  remind  him 
of  the  dreary  "winter  of  discontent"  spent  in  this  moun- 
tain fastness  of  Northern  Georgia?  To  many  of  us  it 
seemed  like  an  age,  but  withal  it  was  a  season  of  much 
needed  rest  and  recuperation.  Here  in  and  around  this 
little  city  flanked  by  majestic  mountains,  pondering  over 
the  disasters  of  Lookout  and  Missionary  Ridge,  we  spent 
the  time  in  comparative  comfort  and  ease,  some  planning 
in  mind  the  future  campaign  and  its  outcome,  others  indif- 
ferent as  to  the  future  and  caring  but  little,  willing  to 
entrust  all  to  those  at  the  helm,  and  making  the  most  of 
circumstances  and  the  ever  present,  little  thinking  or  car- 
ing for  the  great  dangers  and  hardships  that  awaited  us. 

There  was  from  the  time  we  turned  our  faces  South- 
ward from  Bowling  Green  to  the  very  close  of  the  war  an 
air  of  indifference,  a  "devil  may  care,"  happy-go-lucky 
spirit,  about  these  young  Kentuckians  that  made  them  ready 
to  cheerfully  undertake  any  enterprise,  no  matter  how 
dangerous  or  exacting  the  duty  or  perilous  the  undertak- 
ing. They  had  become  so  accustomed  to  all  these  things, 
and  so  thoroughly  inured  to  hardships,  that  they  felt 
themselves  prepared  for  and  rather  coveted  them,  no  mat- 
ter how  great  or  trying.  While  here  we  enjoyed  more 
liberty  and  recreation  than  any  time  during  or  since  the 
war  began.  Some  of  the  men  were  furloughed  and  enjoyed 
a  few  days  of  rest  with  relatives  and  friends  (if  perchance 
they  had  any)  in  the  South.  The  writer  spent  his  in  gay 
old  Richmond  on  the  James,  in  company  with  General 
Lewis,  Captain  McKendrie  and  other  Kentuckians  there 
assembled.  All  amused  themselves  as  best  they  could  in 
camp  and  town. 

Drilling  had  been  dispensed  with — no  need  now  for 

(75) 


76  The  Orphan  Brigade. 

that,  for  in  this  we  were  perfect.  Dress  parade,  guard 
mount  and  review  were  about  the  only  exercises  now  re- 
quired. A  great  sham  battle  broke  the  monotony  once, 
and  a  snowball  battle  at  another  time  was  a  diversion 
indulged  for  one  day.  A  very  pertinent  question  was 
often  asked  toward  the  close  of  the  winter — "Who  would 
command  in  the  next  campaign?"  When  at  last  it  was 
given  out  that  General  Johnson  would  command,  the 
spirits  of  the  men  revived  and  hope  was  again  renewed. 
While  contemplating  the  future,  news  came  that  the 
enemy  were  now  moving  Daltonward.  We  indulged  the 
hope  and  wondered  whether  Sherman  would  undertake 
to  force  the  pass  in  Rockyface  Mountain  through  which 
the  railroad  and  wagon  road  both  ran.  We  thought  of 
Leonidas  and  his  Spartans  and  hoped  for  an  opportunity 
to  imitate  and  if  possible  to  eclipse  that  immortal  event 
at  Thermopylae.  But  not  so  the  wily  Sherman.  That 
"old  fox"  was  too  cunning  to  be  caught  in  that  or  any 
other  trap. 

We  were  ordered  out  to  meet  him  and  took  position 
in  the  gap  and  on  the  mountain,  from  which  we  could  see 
extending  for  miles  his  grand  encampment  of  infantry 
and  artillery,  the  stars  and  stripes  floating  from  every 
regimental  brigade,  division  and  corps  headquarters  and 
presenting  the  greatest  panorama  I  ever  beheld.  Softly 
and  sweetly  the  music  from  their  bands  as  they  played 
the  national  airs  were  wafted  up  and  over  the  summit  of 
the  mountain.  Somehow,  some  way,  in  some  inexplicable 
and  unseen  manner,  "Hail  Columbia,"  "America"  and 
"The  Star  Spangled  Banner"  sounded  sweeter  than  I  had 
ever  before  heard  them,  and  filled  my  soul  with  feelings 
that  I  could  not  describe  or  forget.  It  haunted  me  for 
days,  but  never  shook  my  loyalty  to  the  Stars  and  Bars 
or  relaxed  my  efforts  in  behalf  of  our  cause. 

While  thus  arrayed  in  his  grand  encampment,  his  ban- 
ners flying  and  bands  playing,  a  part  of  his  force  (Mc- 
pherson's   Corps),  like    a    gladiator,  was    rapidly    and 


The  Orphan  Brigade.  77 

stealthily  gliding  over  the  plain  West  of  the  mountains 
to  seize  Snake  Creek  and  Dug  Gaps  and  strike  Johnson 
in  the  rear  at  Resaca.  But  you  know  "the  best  laid 
schemes  of  mice  and  men  gang  aft  agley."  We  arrived 
there  first  and  gave  him  a  hearty  welcome,  as  described 
in  my  chapter  on  Resaca. 

Dalton,  like  other  towns  and  cities,  has  changed  won- 
derfully in  the  days  since  the  war.  From  a  quaint  old 
mountain  town  of  a  half  century  ago  to  the  modern  and 
thrifty  little  city  of  today,  putting  on  airs  like  many  other 
towns.  To  me  no  landmarks  are  visible  save  the  old  stone 
springhouse,  near  where  General  Lewis  had  his  head- 
quarters and  Captain  Phillips,  A.  Q.  M.  of  the  Fourth, 
had  his  quartermaster  store  and  where  his  lovely  little 
wife  graced  his  "marquee"  with  the  air  and  dignity  of 
the  queen  that  she  was.  I  walked  over  the  ground  on 
which  the  Fourth  was  encamped  and  stood  upon  the  very 
spot  where  Captain  Hugh  Henry's  tent  was  pitched,  and  in 
Which  we  were  often  entertained  by  the  Kentucky  Glee 
Club,  which  was  composed  of  some  of  the  finest  talent  in 
the  army.  While  it  may  not  be  altogether  relevant  to  the 
purpose  of  these  chapters,  I  cannot  refrain  from  referring 
to  and  mentioning  the  fact  that  the  Fourth  Kentucky 
was  admitted  to  have  the  finest  band  in  the  Western 
Army,  led  by  that  accomplished  and  expert  musician  who 
(after  the  war)  became  a  teacher  in  the  Boston  Conserva- 
tory of  Music — Billy  McQuown.  Many,  many  times  were 
we  regaled  by  the  music  of  our  band  and  carried  back  to 
the  bosom  of  friends  by  the  sweet  strains  of  "My  Old  Ken- 
tucky Home"  and  other  familiar  and  inspiring  airs  played 
by  this  band.  It  is  no  stranger,  than  it  is  true,  that  music 
exercises  a  wonderful  and  inspiring  influence  over  the 
soldier,  making  him  forget  the  hardships,  trials  and  dan- 
gers to  which  he  is  almost  constantly  exposed,  and  troops 
are  never  happier  than  when  being  entertained  in  this 
way,  unless  it  be  at  a  full  mess  table. 

I  have  been  reluctantly  compelled  to  pass  by  Kenne- 


78  The  Oephan  Brigade. 

saw  and  Pine  Mountains,  both  of  which  are  places  of  much 
interest  to  surviving  Orphans.  On  the  former  we  left 
several  of  our  best  officers  and  men.  Among  the  former 
was  Major  John  Bird  Bogers  of  the  Fourth  Kentucky 
Regiment,  and  Lieutenant  Bob  Innis  of  the  Second.  Than 
the  former  there  was  not  a  more  capable  and  gallant 
officer  identified  with  the  history  of  the  Orphan  Brigade 
as  was  also  Lieutenant  Innis. 

Pine  Mountain,  a  lone  sentinel  of  nature,  was  made 
sacredly  historic  by  the  blood  of  the  great  preacher,  Gen- 
eral Bishop  Polk.  I  saw  the  "grand  old  man"  as  he,  Gen- 
erals Johnston  and  Bates  and  others  rode  by  the  Orphans' 
position  to  the  summit  of  the  mountain  to  view  and  exam- 
ine the  enemy's  position  in  front,  and  could  not  but  admire 
the  graceful  and  dignified  bearing  of  the  grand  old  man 
as  he  saluted  in  true  military  style  as  he  passed.  I  saw 
the  smoke  from  and  heard  the  thunder  of  Simonson's  guns 
as  they  sent  the  fatal  shot  that  tore  his  body  and  ended 
his  earthly  career.  Sad  and  awful  moment  for  the  Con- 
federacy! But  we  have  here  presented  one  of  the  most 
noted  and  conspicuous  characters  in  America  history.  I 
stood  on  the  very  spot  on  which  he  fell  not  twenty  minutes 
after  the  sad  occurrence — Burton's  sharpshooters  with 
their  Kerr  rifles  having  driven  Simonson  and  his  gunners 
to  cover.  I  believe  the  sacred  spot  should  have  erected 
on  it  a  monument  commemorative  of  this  tragic  incident 
and  the  life  and  character  of  this  great  man.  It  is  cer- 
tainly a  picturesque  and  interesting  spot. 

But  before  I  go  I  must  tell  of  my  visit  to  Rockyface 
Gap.  Here  is  one  of  the  grand  sentinels  of  nature — a  lofty 
and  stone-crowned  mountain  towering  above  and  looking 
contemplatively  down  upon  his  neighbors  and  the  low- 
bending  valleys  upon  whose  bosom  Sherman  pitched  his 
grand  and  imposing  encampment  in  the  make-believe  that 
he  was  going  South  through  this  impregnable  pass  held  by 
Johnson.  Next  to  Lookout  it  is  the  grandest  mountain 
in  the  Appalachian  chain,  and  one  well  worthy  of  a  visit 


The  Orphan  Brigade.  79 

by  the  tourist  lover  of  nature.  I  climbed  to  the  top  of  it 
this  morning,  going  over  the  same  identical  path  traveled 
by  us  while  doing  picket  and  observation  duty.  Here  we 
had  the  only  human  telegraph  line  I  ever  saw,  which  was 
made  by  placing  the  operator  (an  officer)  on  the  summit 
to  report  the  operations  and  movements  of  the  enemy  to 
the  first  man  in  the  line,  he  repeating  it  to  the  next  in 
line  and  so  on  down  the  mountain  to  its  base  where  the 
general  had  his  staff  officers  and  couriers  to  receive  the 
message  and  report  to  him  at  his  headquarters.  The 
scheme  worked  like  a  charm,  notwithstanding  its  unique- 
ness. 

I  was  impelled  to  make  this  trip — although  I  felt  when 
I  reached  the  summit  I  was  about  to  collapse — to  see  the 
resting  place  of  a  noble  and  brave  old  Orphan  who  waa 
killed  while  on  duty  here — George  Disney  of  Company 
K,  Fourth  Kentucky — an  account  of  whose  singular  death 
is  noted  by  Virginius  Hutchings  in  the  history  of  the 
Orphan  Brigade.  I  learned  before  going  on  this  trip  that 
the  Boy  Scouts  of  Dalton,  under  Captain  Sapp,  county 
clerk,  had  only  two  days  before  gone  up  and  placed  a 
marble  headstone  to  the  grave  to  take  the  place  of  the 
board  that  had  so  long  marked  his  resting  place — a  place 
that  a  monarch  or  king  might  envy,  hundreds  of  feet  above 
common  man. 

I  wished  while  there,  so  high  upward  toward  Heaven, 
that  I  could  wield  the  pen  of  a  Gray  or  a  Kipling,  that  I 
might  do  this  subject  of  my  thoughts  justice.  The  sub- 
ject, the  inspiration,  was  here,  but  language  to  express  it 
was  lacking.  Poor  George!  You  have  had  one  friend 
after  these  long  years  to  leave  a  tear  of  tribute  to  your 
memory. 

I  cannot  close  without  first  thanking  the  good  daugh- 
ters of  Dalton  for  the  compliment  they  paid  me  by  really 
forcing  upon  me  undeserved  attentions  in  a  very  fine  lunch 
set  before  and  out  of  time  specially  for  me  just  before 
taking 'the  train  flat  11:50  a.  m.,  and  who  I  think  had  a 


80  The  Orphan  Brigade. 

scheme  to  force  me  to  make  them  a  speech — it  being  Dec- 
oration Day — but  I  slipped  through  their  fingers  and  got 
away. 


CHAPTER  IX. 
VISIT  TO  RESACA— 1912. 

May  14th  found  us  after  a  tiresome  night's  march  at 
Resaca,  from  which  point  I  again  write  you. 

Here  today  and  on  the  morrow  was  fought  the  first 
battle  of  magnitude  in  the  great  hundred  and  twenty  days' 
battle  of  the  celebrated  Georgia  campaign  from  Dalton  to 
Atlanta.  I  say  hundred  and  twenty  days'  battle,  which 
may  seem  a  little  far-fetched,  but  which  is  almost  literally 
true,  for  there  was  not  a  day  or  night,  yes  scarcely  an 
hour,  that  we  did  not  hear  the  crack  of  a  rifle  or  roar  of  a 
cannon.  Their  sounds  were  our  lullaby,  sleeping  or  wak- 
ing— to  their  music  we  slept,  by  their  thunderings  we 
were  awakened,  and  to  the  accompanying  call  of  the  bugle 
we  responded  on  the  morning  of  May  14  to  engage  in  the 
death  grapple  with  Sherman's  well  clothed,  well  fed  and 
thoroughly  rested  veterans — a  matter  "of  Greek  meeting 
Greek  again."  Sherman  had  pushed  down  the  West  side 
of  Rockyface  Mountain  and  through  Snake  Creek  Gap 
the  day  and  night  before  in  an  effort  to  cut  Johnston's 
communications  and  take  him  in  the  rear.  But  we  had 
been  doing  some  marching  and  digging,  too,  and  when 
Sherman's  columns  four  or  five  deep  debouched  from  their 
positions — a  long,  heavily  wooded  ridge — into  the  narrow 
valley,  on  the  East  side  of  which  we  had  constructed  rifle 
pits,  he  found  us  ready  to  receive  his  gay  and  awe-inspir- 
ing columns,  who  moved  in  perfect  step,  with  banners  fly- 
ing and  bands  playing,  as  though  he  expected  to  charm  us. 

The  eagerness  of  our  own  men  could  scarcely  be 
restrained  until  they  had  reached  the  point  to  which  our 
orders  had  been  given,  seventy-five  to  eighty  yards,  when 
our  lines  opened  almost  simultaneously  a  deadly  and 
murderous  fire  from  both  infantry  and  double-shotted 
artillery,  that  flesh  and  blood  could  not  withstand.    Retir- 

(81) 


82  The  Orphan  Brigade. 

ing  in  disorder  to  their  original  position  in  the  woods,  they 
rallied  and  reformed,  while  their  artillery  was  busy  play- 
ing upon  our  batteries,  from  which  they  received  no 
response  whatever,  a  mystery  at  the  time  to  many  of  us, 
but  which  we  understood  a  little  later  on  when  they  again 
moved  down  to  the  attack,  to  be  met  in  the  same  manner 
with  both  infantry  and  artillery,  and  with  similar  results. 
Three  times  during  the  morning  and  early  afternoon  were 
these  attacks  made  upon  our  lines,  with  the  same  results. 
It  was  a  veritable  picnic  for  the  Confederates  and  was  the 
second  time  in  the  history  of  the  war,  up  to  this  time,  that 
we  had  presented  such  a  glorious  opportunity,  protected 
as  we  were  by  earthworks,  with  clear  and  open  ground  in 
front.  Had  Sherman  continued  this  business  during  the 
entire  day  (as  we  hoped  he  would)  the  campaign  would 
have  ended  right  here,  as  we  had  not  called  into  requisi- 
tion any  of  our  reserve  force.  The  principal  part  of  the 
afternoon  was  spent  by  the  artillery — after  the  infantry 
had  gotten  enough  of  it — on  both  sides  pounding  away  at 
each  other  in  a  lively  and  entertaining  fashion. 

Some  daring  and  courageous  deeds  were  performed  by 
the  Federal  officers  and  men  on  this  occasion,  the  recollec- 
tion of  which  is  refreshing  and  exhilarating  to  the  writer, 
but  for  want  of  time  I  shall  be  compelled  to  pass  over. 
However,  one  instance,  I  will  relate  as  being  somewhat 
interesting  to  Kentuckians  as  showing  the  home  spirit  and 
natural  feeling  existing  between  them  as  Kentuckians, 
although  now  engaged  in  the  deadly  breach.  That  night 
some  of  our  boys  of  the  Fourth  Kentucky  learned  from 
inquiry  of  our  "friends"  in  our  front  that  we  were  con- 
fronting the  Federal  Fourth  Kentucky  (Colonel  Tom 
Croxton),  whereupon  a  bantering  of  epithets  and  compli- 
ments was  at  once  begun  and  exchanged  in  a  very  amus- 
ing and  interesting  way.  I  listened  to  the  colloquy  with 
great  interest  and  amusement,  which  was  conducted  on 
our  side  by  Lieutenant  Horace  Watts,  who  was  a  noted 
wit  and  humorist.    But  I  regret  that  I  have  forgotten  the 


The  Orphan  Brigade.  83 

name  of  his  interrogator,  whom  I  recall,  however,  was 
from  Vanceburg,  Ky. 

That  night  was  spent  in  strengthening  our  works  and 
preparing  for  the  work  of  the  morrow,  which  work  we 
well  knew  was  coming.  When  morning  came  the  appear- 
ance of  Old  Sol  was  greeted  with  a  signal  from  a  battery 
immediately  in  our  front,  which  had  been  stationed  there 
during  the  night  and  protected  by  substantial  and  elab- 
orate earthworks.  The  shots  from  this  battery  were 
directed  against  Hotchkiss'  battalion  of  artillery,  and 
which  the  Fourth  Kentucky  Infantry  was  supporting.  The 
enemy's  guns  from  every  part  of  the  line  kept  up  a  con- 
tinuous fire  throughout  the  entire  day  and  was  the  great- 
est open  field  bombardment  of  the  war.  We  were  much 
amused  at  the  manner  of  firing  of  the  battery  in  our  front, 
which  was  done  by  bugle  signal,  the  meaning  of  which  our 
men  soon  learned,  for  a  moment  later  our  works  would  be 
pierced  by  their  shells  and  when  they  exploded  threw 
high  in  the  air  a  cloud  of  dirt  and  smoke  from  the  embank- 
ment that  almost  covered  us  up.  At  intervals  of  about 
every  five  or  ten  minutes  the  bugle's  "whe-whee-deedle- 
dee-dee"  told  us  of  the  crash  that  was  coming  and  almost 
lifted  our  scalps  and  rendered  some  of  us  deaf  for  weeks. 
Had  the  day  been  an  hour  longer  we  would  have  been  com- 
pelled to  abandon  our  works,  for  the  embankments  were 
almost  leveled  and  the  trenches  filled. 

Two  of  Hotchkiss'  guns  were  cut  down  and  had  to  be 
abandoned,  and  but  for  the  fact  that  they  had  been  run 
back  beyond  the  crest,  not  a  splinter  of  them  would  have 
been  left. 

Our  batteries  did  not  fire  a  gun  that  day,  having  been 
ordered  to  withhold  their  fire  in  anticipation  of  another 
attack  by  the  enemy's  infantry.  This  day's  work  was  a 
very  clever  ruse  of  Sherman's  and  demonstrated  the  cun- 
ning of  that  wily  general,  for  while  he  was  thus  entertain- 
ing us  with  the  main  part  of  his  army,  especially  his  artil- 
lery, like  the  sly  old  fox  that  he  was,  he  was  planning  our 


84  The  Orphan  Brigade. 

undoing  by  sending  down  the  river  to  our  rear  Dodge's- 
Corps  to  fall  on  our  rear  and  cut  our  communications  and 
intercept  our  retreat. 

Had  his  plan  been  expedited  by  Dodge,  as  it  might 
have  been,  it  would  surely  have  been  "all  day"  with  us 
poor  devils  of  Confederates.  It  was  certainly  a  "close 
shave,"  for  which  we  were  all  very  thankful.  But  we  here 
on  the  14th  enjoyed  the  "picnic"  for  which  we  Orphans 
paid  most  dearly  on  the  28th  at  Dallas,  and  which  I  shall 
describe  in  another  place.  War,  it  seems  from  my  experi- 
ence and  observation,  may  be  described  as  a  dreadful  and 
costly  game  of  "tit-for-tat." 

The  losses  sustained  by  the  Orphans  in  this  engage- 
ment at  Resaca  were  insignificant  compared  with  that 
inflicted  upon  the  enemy  in  their  front.  There  is  not  a 
single  recognizable  object  here  save  the  ground  where  we 
fought,  from  the  fact  that  we  arrived  here  in  the  night 
and  took  our  departure  in  the  night.  The  narrow  valley 
and  the  long  extended  rigde  in  its  front  and  the  spur 
occupied  by  Hotchkiss  and  the  Fourth  Kentucky,  is  all 
that  I  see  to  remind  me  of  the  two  days  of  "pride,  pomp 
and  circumstance  of  glorious  war."  But  how's  this,  we 
fighting  behind  entrenchments  and  the  enemy  in  the  open, 
four  or  five  lines  deep? 

"Our  loss  was  2,747,  and  his  (Johnson's)  2,800.  I 
fought  offensively  and  he  defensively,  aided  by  earthwork 
parapets." — [General  Sherman's  statement.]  There  must 
have  been  some  bad  shooting  on  this  occasion — the  ad- 
vantages all  on  one  side,  but  results  so  nearly  even. 

Today,  May  16  (1912),  marks  the  forty-eighth  anni- 
versary of  this  important  event,  and  finds  me  on  the 
ground.  Here,  as  at  other  places  previously  mentioned 
and  described,  things  came  back  to  me  and  I  see  them  be- 
ing reenacted.  I  was  accompanied  on  this  inspection  by 
an  old  comrade  (J.  H.  Norton),  who  lost  an  arm  at  Chan- 
cellorsville,  and  who  has  lived  here  in  Eesaca  almost  all 
his  life  and  who  was  at  home  at  the  time,  having  been 


The  Orphan  Brigade.  85 

discharged  on  account  of  the  loss  of  his  arm,  and  who 
assisted  in  burying  the  dead,  and  he  pooh-poohed  Sher- 
man's statement  as  to  relative  losses.  Another  old  com- 
rade, who  is  a  merchant  in  the  town,  told  me  that  he  had 
bought  over  a  hundred  thousand  pounds  of  minnie  balls 
picked  up  on  the  ground  where  the  battle  was  fought,  I 
saw  a  three-bushel  box  full  in  his  store  today.  How  many 
poor  devils  were  killed  by  these  would  be  impossible  to 
tell.  They  have  a  neat  little  cemetery  near  the  town,  in 
which  there  are  nine  Kentuckians  (Confederates)  buried, 
some  of  whose  names  I  have  copied. 


CHAPTER  X. 
DALLAS. 

Here,  as  at  Balaklava,  "some  one  blundered,"  and  while 
we  have  not  had  a  Tennyson  to  immortalize  the  event,  it 
is  of  more  than  ordinary  interest  to  Kentuckians,  espe- 
cialy  those  who  participated  in  the  bloody  event.  More 
because  of  the  fearful  slaughter  and  the  mournful  fact 
that  it  was  the  result  of  a  failure  to  deliver  orders  at  the 
proper  time.  The  official  report  showed  a  loss  of  51  per 
cent,  a  loss,  considering  the  time  actually  engaged,  unpar- 
alleled in  the  history  of  the  war.  To  my  mind  it  was  the 
most  desperate  and  disastrous  of  all  the  many  engage- 
ments in  which  the  Orphans  took  part  during  their  four 
years  of  experience. 

The  actual  time  under  fire  did  not  in  my  judgment 
exceed  thirty  minutes.  To  describe  accurately  the  posi- 
tion of  the  enemy  at  this  distant  day  would  be  a  difficult 
task,  but  when  the  reader  is  told  that  they  occupied  two 
parallel  lines  of  entrenchments,  from  both  of  which  he 
delivered  simultaneously  a  destructive  and  murderous 
fire,  that  was  so  fatal  that  nothing  but  the  protecting  hand 
of  an  all-wise  and  merciful  Providence  could  save.  The 
first  of  these  lines  was  a  few  yards  below,  and  in  front 
of  the  second,  which  ran  along  the  summit  of  the  ridge  and 
enabled  the  second  line  to  fire  directly  overhead  without 
endangering  the  first.  Besides  this  double  advantage, 
they  were  able  to  enfilade  our  line  with  their  artillery 
from  both  extremes  of  their  line.  Smith's  brigade,  on  our 
left,  having  received  orders  (which  were  also  intended 
for  us  and  which  failed  of  delivery)  to  withhold  the  at- 
tack, enabled  the  enemy  to  deliver  an  oblique  fire  upon  us 
from  his  infantry  on  the  left,  as  well  as  from  his  two  lines 
directly  in  front.     At  every  step  Kentucky  was  paying 

(86) 


The  Orphan  Brigade.  87 

double  toll  with  the  lives  of  her  noblest  and  best.  To  push 
forward  meant  certain  and  complete  annihilation;  to  re- 
main where  we  were  some  seventy-five  or  eighty  yards  in 
their  front,  meant  the  same,  only  a  little  slower  death. 

The  order  to  "fall  back"  having  been  given,  we  were 
only  too  glad  to  attempt  our  escape  from  the  death  trap 
into  which  we  had  been  ordered.  Many  of  our  wounded 
and  all  of  our  dead  were  left  on  the  field  or  intervening 
space  between  the  entrenched  lines  of  the  opposing  forces. 
Several  of  the  wounded  crawled  back  after  nightfall  and 
in  this  way  made  their  escape.  The  grounds  in  the  rear 
of  our  works  presented  an  appalling  sight  when  I  reached 
them  with  my  burden  on  my  back — Sergeant  W.  E.  Knox, 
who  had  a  broken  leg.  Nothing  but  a  miracle  saved  us 
both  from  the  murderous  fire  of  the  enemy.  Here  fell  the 
gallant  and  polished  Major  Millett  within  ten  paces  of  our 
entrenchment,  he  being  the  third  major  of  the  Fourth 
Regiment  to  be  killed  on  the  field. 

Several  incidents  of  a  thrilling  and  miraculous  char- 
acter occurred  on  this  field,  as  afterward  related.  Some 
of  our  wounded  who  approached  nearest  the  enemy's 
works  and  fell  into  their  hands  were  taken  to  the  little 
town  of  Dallas,  a  mile  or  two  distant,  where  they  were 
found  two  days  later,  and  left  in  a  shamefully  neglected 
condition.  Among  them  was  one  of  the  most  noble  gentle- 
men and  gallant  soldiers  it  was  ever  my  good  fortune  to 
know,  Captain  D.  E.  McKendrie  of  the  Sixth  Kentucky, 
and  who  died  a  few  days  later. 

There  were  really  only  two  brigades  engaged  in  this  en- 
counter, the  Orphan  Brigade  and  Findlay's  Florida  Brigade. 
The  burden  of  the  encounter  fell  upon  the  Orphans,  as 
shown  by  their  greater  loss.  But  here  again  was  displayed 
that  daring,  regardless  of  consequences,  which  had  been 
so  often  displayed  by  this  little  band  of  Kentuckians  on 
so  many  fields  from  Fort  Donaldson  to  this  eventful  day. 
I  hope  I  shall  not  be  accused  of  egotism  for  seeming  to 
arrogate  to  myself  and  my  fellow  Kentuckians  honors  to 


88  The  Orphan  Brigade. 

which  we  are  not  entitled  and  of  which  all  of  her  people 
may  be  justly  proud.  The  loss  of  51  per  cent  tells  the 
story  more  graphically  than  anything  I  may  say  by  way 
of  compliment  or  eulogy. 

The  reader  may  wonder  why  this  attack  was  ordered 
against  a  force  so  strongly  and  irresistibly  posted.  The 
answer  is  easy  to  the  old  veteran  who  knows  the  difficulty 
in  ascertaining  an  enemy's  position  in  a  heavily  timbered 
country  like  this,  with  trees  and  bushes  in  full  leaf,  and 
how  great  the  danger  from  the  ever  alert  sharpshooter  to 
the  man  attempting  a  reconnaissance.  The  object  was  to 
develop  his  strength  at  this  point,  the  commander  believ- 
ing Sherman  to  be  only  feigning  while  he  was  carrying 
out  other  and  ulterior  plans.  But  so  it  was,  we  paid 
dearly  for  the  desired  information. 

I  have  reviewed  every  foot  of  this  ground  the  second 
time,  stopping  here  and  there  to  pick  up  a  minnie  ball 
lodged  in  the  enemy's  works,  fired  at  them  by  my  dear 
old  "Orphan"  boys,  and  while  thus  engaged  the  familiar 
faces  of  many  a  noble  comrade  and  in  one  or  two  instances 
school  fellows'  images  passed  before  my  mind  in  panorama 
that  almost  unnerved  and  dumfounded  me.  Studying 
coolly  at  this  time  the  great  advantage  the  enemy  had  in 
position  and  numbers,  I  am  surprised  that  any  of  us 
escaped  at  all.  I  had  no  difficulty  whatever  in  locating 
at  once  the  position  of  both  parties  and  the  exact  spot  on 
which  my  regiment  and  company  fought.  Most  of  the 
Confederate  lines1  have  been  partly  and  in  some  places 
completely  obliterated  by  the  plow,  but  hills  and  hollows 
are  still  there.  The  enemy's  lines  have  been  little  dis- 
turbed and  are  mostly  intact  even  at  this  distant  day. 

I  must  confess  that  I  am  wont  to  linger  about  this  hal- 
lowed spot  and  my  heart  beats  heavily  when  I  think  of  the 
comrades  and  friends  who  died  here  and  whose  bodies  I 
assisted  in  giving  the  last  rude  sepulchre.  I  turn  away 
from  it  with  tearful  eyes  and  sorrowful  heart. 


CHAPTER  XI. 
ATLANTA— MAY,  1912. 

I  am  writing  this  from  historic  Atlanta,,  the  "gateway 
of  the  South."  How  very  different  to  the  Atlanta  I  knew 
in  the  days  gone  by  when  her  streets  were  filled  with  the 
tramp,  tramp  of  marching  armies,  when  her  walls  were 
rocked  by  the  thunders  of  the  cannon's  mighty  roar,  when 
the  rockets'  "red  glare  gave  proof  through  the  night  that 
our  new  flag  was  still  there."  Oh!  what  a  wonderful 
change  'twixt  now  and  then.  "Lovely  city  now,  quiet  and 
mighty  in  her  peaceful  ways,  may  the  God  of  war  never 
again  sound  his  bugle  calls  over  her  peaceful  slumbers, 
and  may  she  know  the  ways  of  war  no  more  forever." 

How  very,  very  different  to  the  Atlanta  I  saw  in  June, 
1865,  when  on  my  way  home  from  the  South,  returning 
disabled,  discomfited,  defeated.  What  darker  picture  could 
be  imagined  unless  it  be  "Dante's  Inferno,"  than  a  city  of 
destroyed  homes  with  blackened  walls  and  chimneys  punc- 
tuating the  fiendish  spirit  that  prompted  the  ruin  of  its 
people  and  their  homes.  When  General  Sherman  first 
gave  expression  to  his  oft-repeated  apothegm  he  must  have 
had  in  mind  the  ruin  he  had  accomplished  in  the  destruc- 
tion of  this  fair  city  of  the  South.  Certainly  nothing  but 
a  fiendish  spirit  could  have  prompted  it. 

But  two  buildings  of  prominence  were  left — the  Ma- 
sonic Temple  and  a  hotel.  But  her  people  are  now  enjoy- 
ing the  blessings  of  peace  and  prosperity,  having  risen, 
Phoenix-like,  from  her  ashes. 

I  must  now  return  to  some  of  the  incidents  and  events 
of  the  defense  of  Atlanta  in  which  I  was  an  humble  par- 
ticipant. On  the  9th  of  July  General  Johnston's  army 
crossed  the  Chattahoochee  River  on  pontoons  and  the 
time  until  the  22d  was  employed  by  Johnston  and  Hood 
chiefly  in  marching  and  counter-marching  to  checkmate 
the  movements  of  Sherman.     A  circumstance  happened 

(89) 


90  The  Orphan  Brigade. 

about  this  time  that  gave  Sherman  great  pleasure  (he 
says  so)  and  correspondingly  great  sorrow  and  despond- 
ency to  the  Confederates,  heretofore  so  successfully  led  by 
General  Johnston,  viz.,  the  removal  of  Johnston  and  the 
substitution  of  Hood. 

While  Hood  was  a  Kentuckian  as  well  as  we  Orphans, 
and  we  priding  in  everything  pertaining  to  the  history  of 
Kentucky,  we  had  unbounded  confidence  in  General  John- 
ston. But  once  before  had  we  felt  such  sadness  and  regret 
— when  General  Breckinridge  was  taken  from  us  and  sent 
to  Virginia.  This  feeling  was  intensified  by  the  belief 
that  Bragg  was  responsible. 

On  the  20th  the  battle  of  Peach  Tree  Creek  was  fought 
and  given  a  prominence  in  excess  of  the  facts  as  the  writer 
saw  it;  a  straggling,  haphazard  kind  of  hide  and  seek 
affair,  magnified  into  a  battle.  On  the  22d  of  July  was 
fought  what  is  known  in  history  as  the  battle  of  Atlanta. 

The  night  march  of  the  21st  from  our  place  in  the  line 
of  defense  on  the  left  and  to  the  extreme  right  near  De- 
catur, where  this  battle  was  fought,  was  the  most  trying, 
with  one  exception,  the  writer  remembers  to  have  ever 
experienced,  occupying  the  entire  night  in  dust  ankle 
deep,  without  a  drop  of  water  or  an  hour's  rest.  It  is 
remembered  to  this  day  with  a  distinctness  that  makes  me 
fairly  shudder.  When  morning  came  we  looked  like  the 
imaginary  Adam  "of  the  earth  earthy,"  so  completely  were 
we  encased  in  dust.  But  for  the  nerve  stimulus  that  immi- 
nent and  great  danger  gives  a  man  on  the  eve  of  a  great 
battle,  I  don't  think  I  could  have  rendered  much  service, 
on  this  occasion,  after  such  exhaustion  and  suffering  from 
thirst.  In  fact  were  it  not  an  indispensable  part  of  my 
plan  I  should  have  little  to  say  about  this  whole  affair, 
for  it  was  to  me  the  most  ill-conceived  and  unsatisfactory 
executed  plan  of  battle  of  the  whole  war  in  which  I  par- 
ticipated. 

There  were  difficulties  to  overcome  that  might  easily 
have  been  avoided  had  the  proper  engineering  skill  been 


The  Orphan  Brigade.  91 

employed  in  time  and  the  necessary  reconnaissance  been 
made.    So  far  as  results  accomplished  were  concerned,  it 
was  barren  and  fruitless.     Especially  was  this  the  case 
on  the  extreme  right,  where  Bates'  division  fought  and 
where  the  Orphans  took  part.    Not  that  any  man  or  body 
of  men  proved  recreant,  but  there  was  a  lack  of  under- 
standing and    cooperation    of    movement,  coupled    with 
almost  insurmountable    obstacles    that   might  have  been 
avoided.     For  instance,  the  Kentucky  Brigade  was  com- 
pelled to  struggle  through  the  mire  of  a  slough  and  mill- 
pond  filled  with  logs,  stumps,  brush  and  what-not  in  water 
and  mire  knee-deep,  the  men  in  many  instances  being  com- 
pelled to  extricate  their  comrades  by  pulling  them  onto 
logs  and  other  footings  before  we  could  pass  the  obstruc- 
tion.    This  so  deranged  our  battle  alignment  that  in  the 
press  and  excitement  of  the  moment,  caused  by  the  enemy 
firing   at   this   critical   moment,    we   were  never   able   to 
correct  it  and  present  a  solid  front.     Out  of  dust  ankle 
deep  into  water  and  mire  knee-deep  was  too  much  for  the 
nerves  and  patience  of  the  strongest  man  and  most  patient 
Christian.     And  then,  to  be  finally  pitched  in  one  disor- 
dered and  confused  mass  against  a  well  disciplined  and 
strongly  posted  line  of  veterans,  behind  earthworks,  was 
too  much  for  the  best  soldiers  of  the  times.    And  yet  with 
the  proper  use  of  artillery  at  the  right  time  and  place,  we 
might  have  accomplished  more  decisive  results. 

This  affair  was  the  more  lamentable  to  the  Orphans 
because  of  the  loss  of  quite  a  number  of  our  best  officers 
and  men  without  any  tangible  results.  The  whole  thing 
was  disappointing  and  to  me  really  disgusting.  Hood  at 
Atlanta,  like  Bragg  at  Murfreesboro,  might  profitably 
have  spent  more  time  with  his  engineers  in  examining  and 
surveying  the  ground  on  which  he  expected  to  fight.  Gen- 
eral Johnson  was  doubtless  better  posted.  But  the  final 
result  would  have  been  the  same;  Atlanta  was  doomed — 
by  Sherman's  force  of  three  to  one.  After  summing  up 
results  and  exchanging  regrets  and  expressing  sorrow  for 


92  The  Orphan  Brigade. 

the  loss  of  comrades,  we  returned  to  our  original  places 
in  the  lines  of  defense  to  await  the  next  scene  in  the  grand 
drama. 

This  came  on  August  6th  at  Utoy  Creek  on  the  Sand- 
town  road  leading  Southwest  from  Atlanta.  The  Orphan 
Brigade  and  Tyler's  Tennessee  Brigade  had  been  pushed 
forward  on  a  kind  of  salient  to  the  left  and  front  of  the 
main  line  and  touching  the  little  stream  known  as  Utoy 
Creek.  Here  occurred  the  battle  known  by  the  above 
name.  I  here  recognize  more  distinctly  than  any  other 
place,  so  far  visited,  the  general  appearance  of  the  ground 
and  especially  the  falls  of  the  little  creek  at  which  on  the 
day  previous  to  the  battle  I  enjoyed  the  only  refreshing 
bath  for  several  days.  It  is  quite  an  interesting  place  to 
the  writer.  I  here  witnessed  on  the  morning  of  the  battle 
the  capture  of  Lieut.  Isham  Dudley,  in  command  of  the 
videttes,  together  with  some  half  dozen  men  of  the  Orphan 
Brigade,  they  having  been  completely  surprised  just  at 
daybreak  by  a  sudden  and  unexpected  rush  of  the  enemy. 

The  writer  had  the  honor  to  command  the  skirmish 
line  covering  the  Confederate  position  and  had  a  fine 
opportunity  to  witness  the  charge  of  the  two  Federal  brig- 
ades, which  were  composed  chiefly  of  East  Tennesseans, 
as  they  swept  past  the  right  of  our  skirmish  line,  they 
doubtless  not  knowing  that  they  were  about  to  encounter 
breastworks  of  a  formidable  character,  receiving  at  the 
same  time  a  scathing  flank  fire  from  the  Fourth  Ken- 
tucky and  the  skirmish  line  above  alluded  to.  But  they 
were  plucky  fellows  and  charged  to  within  a  few  yards  of 
our  works,  paying  dearly  for  their  courage  and  temerity. 
In  this  affair  we  were  attacked  by  a  force  somewhat 
superior  in  numbers,  but  the  advantage  that  our  breast- 
works afforded  us  made  the  victory  easily  won.  I  here 
quote  the  order  of  General  S.  D.  Lee,  commanding  corps, 
congratulating  them  and  incidentally  complimenting  the 
defenders. 

"The  lieutenant  general  commanding  takes  pleasure 


The  Orphan  Brigade.  93 

in  announcing  to  the  officers  and  men  of  this  corps  the 
splendid  conduct  of  a  portion  of  Bates'  Division,  particu- 
larly Tyler's  Brigade  and  the  Second  and  Fourth  Ken- 
tucky regiments  of  Lewis'  Brigade,  in  sustaining  and 
repulsing  on  yesterday  afternoon  three  assaults  of  the 
enemy  in  which  his  loss  in  killed,  wounded  and  prisoners 
was  from  eight  hundred  to  a  thousand  men,  with  three 
stands  of  colors,  three  or  four  hundred  small  arms  and  all 
of  his  entrenching  tools.  Soldiers  who  fight  with  the  cool; 
ness  and  determination  that  these  men  did  will  always  be 
victorious  over  any  reasonable  number." 

In  this  engagement  we  lost  only  about  eighteen  men 
all  told,  while  the  enemy's  loss  in  killed  alone  was  160.  I 
walked  over  the  ground  ten  minutes  after  it  occurred  and 
found  the  crest  of  the  hill  covered  with  the  dead  and 
wounded,  swords,  guns,  cartridge  boxes  and  other  par- 
aphernalia of  war. 

I  found  here  the  thing  I  need  and  coveted  most  of  all 
at  this  time,  a  fine  black  sombrero,  which  furnished  me 
ample  protection  thereafter  from  the  intense  rays  of  the 
August  sun.  I  "swapped"  my  spoon-bill  cap  with  the 
fellow  who  had  worn  this  hat,  to  which  he,  of  course, 
raised  no  objection.  Others  provided  themselves  in  like 
manner,  which  was  entirely  legitimate,  of  course,  the  orig- 
inal owners  having  no  further  use  for  such  things.  But  a 
flanking  column  that  night,  as  usual,  compelled  us  to 
abandon  the  position  of  our  recent  victory  and  we  retired 
to  our  original  position  in  the  circle  of  entrenchments. 

I  have  this  day,  May  13,  1912,  carefully  and  studiously 
reviewed  the  very  spot  on  which  those  160  men  lay  dead, 
and  I  feel  safe  in  saying  that  it  is  not  larger  than  one-half 
a  city  block.  They  were  met  square  in  front  and  were 
fired  on  from  both  flanks,  and  had  they  attempted  to 
remain  there  as  much  as  one  hour  there  would  not  have 
been  a  man  of  them  left  on  his  feet.  It  was  a  death  trap 
similar  to  the  one  into  which  we  Orphans  fell  at  Dallas. 
I  could  hardly  control  my  emotions  when  viewing  this 


94  The  Orphan  Brigade. 

place,  and  my  mind  was  almost  overwhelmed  as  I  walked 
along  on  top  of  these  still  distinct  and  undisturbed  para- 
pets, stopping  now  and  then  to  pick  up  a  "Yankee  bullet" 
lodged  in  them,  or  a  small  stone  that  had  been  thrown  out 
by  the  Confederates.  The  surroundings  here  are  perfectly 
familiar  to  me,  notwithstanding  opinions  of  friends  at  home 
to  the  contrary.  So  interesting  is  this  spot  that  I  have 
made  the  second  visit  to  it. 

Here  the  time  from  August  7  to  29,  1864,  was  spent  in 
listening  to  the  music  of  the  rifle  and  the  cannon  and  an 
occasional  sweet,  faint  and  harmonious  symphony  from 
the  enemy's  brass  bands  as  they  played,  seemingly  for  our 
entertainment,  "The  Star  Spangled  Banner,"  "Hail  -Co- 
lumbia," "Yankee  Doodle"  and,  to  taunt  us,  "Dixie."  At 
night  they  would  vary  the  entertainment  by  sending  up 
innumerable  rockets,  which  some  of  the  men  interpreted 
to  mean  the  arrival  of  a  new  command  or  shift  of  posi- 
tion, but  to  most  of  us  it  was  "Greek  and  Hebrew." 

But  this  condition  was  not  to  last;  Sherman's  defini- 
tion of  war  was  in  him  and  must  come  out.  On  the  29th 
we  packed  our  knapsacks  and  bidding  good-bye  to  the 
Atlanta  of  the  day,  soon  to  be  no  more,  we  again  turned 
Southward  to  meet  the  flanking  columns  of  Sherman  at 
Jonesboro,  with  a  description  of  which  I  shall  close  these 
recollections. 

Before  leaving  this  dear  old  city  I  must  take  one  more 
last  look  at  her  steeples,  her  walls  and  her  streets,  shake 
the  hand  of  friends  in  the  last  farewell  grasp  and  say 
good-bye  forever. 

I  find  Atlanta  so  wonderfully  changed,  commercially, 
assuming  metropolitan  airs  and  wearing  her  honors  so 
gracefully  that  I  dare  not  attempt  a  description  of  her 
present  status.  Besides,  these  things  are  well  known  now 
by  the  whole  American  people.  Still  I  find  myself  com- 
paring her  (in  mind)  with  what  she  was  "before  and  dur- 
ing the  war." 

The  fact  that  I  am  now  looking  upon  her  for  the  last 


The  Orphan  Brigade.  95 

time,  and  the  further  fact  that  she  contains  many  warm 
and  true  friends  whom  I  shall  never  see  again,  causes  a 
feeling  of  sadness  I  wish  I  could  resist.  But  I  break  camp 
and  take  up  my  line  of  march  for  Jonesboro. 

But  before  I  leave  I  must  tender  my  thanks  to  my 
young  friend  from  Bourbon,  W.  H.  Letton  (who  is  now  a 
prosperous  business  man  here),  for  many  favors  and  cour- 
tesies so  cheerfully  extended  me.  It  were  cruel  to  allow 
him  to  spend  with  me  so  much  of  his  time  from  his  lovely 
little  Georgia  bride,  so  recently  taken  to  himself.  But  this 
is  Kentucky,  you  know,  and  he  inherits  it.  I  am  also 
indebted  to  my  old  comrades,  J.  W.  McWilliams  of  the 
Forty-Second  Georgia;  J.  M.  Mills  of  the  Soldiers'  Home, 
and  C.  L.  Ingram  of  Fort  McPherson;  ex-Sheriff  Barnes, 
Major  Jones  of  the  Seventeenth  Infantry  at  the  fort  (Mc- 
Pherson), and  last,  though  not  least  by  any  means,  Mrs. 
Jones  of  the  city  at  whose  boarding  house  I  was  a  guest. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

JONESBORO. 

I  begin  here  the  last  inspection  and  reminiscence,  on 
my  return  trip  from  attending  the  recent  Confederate  re- 
union at  Macon,  May,  1912,  and  while  I  distrust  my  ability 
to  do  the  theme  proper  justice,  I  am  tempted  to  undertake 
the  task  through  the  love  of  the  brave  "old  boys"  who  still 
survive  and  the  memory  of  several  hundred  noble  young 
Kentuckians  whose  life  blood  consecrates  the  soil  of 
Georgia  on  every  field  from  Chattanooga  to  Jonesboro. 

My  mind  becomes  a  whirlpool  of  recollections  as  I 
stand  here  and  "view  the  landscape  o'er"  and  contemplate 
the  horrible  scenes  enacted  here  forty-eight  years  ago,  and 
in  which  the  Confederacy  was  surely  and  rapidly  expiring 
in  the  throes  of  dissolution. 

It  is  not  my  purpose  or  aim  to  controvert  in  any  in- 
stance the  descriptions  and  recitals  of  the  historians,  but 
merely  as  a  pastime  to  revert  to  some  of  my  personal  ex- 
periences and  recollections.  Nor  shall  I  attempt  to  enlarge 
upon  or  embellish  the  history  of  that  glorious  little  band 
of  Kentuckians  known  as  the  "Orphan  Brigade."  That 
has  been  done  by  others,  done  by  such  men  as  Prof.  N.  S. 
Shaler,  Gens.  Joseph  E.  Johnson,  W.  J.  Hardee,  Stephen 
D.  Lee,  Ed.  Porter  Thompson  and  many  others,  able  and 
eloquent  men,  historians  and  statesmen,  and  in  whose 
history  Kentuckians  of  all  beliefs  must  ever  rejoice  as 
one  of  the  brightest  and  most  interesting  pages  in  her 
history.  And  why  not,  since  they  represented  so  many  of 
the  noblest  and  best  young  men  of  the  state  and  were  led 
by  such  men  as  Breckinridge,  Hanson,  Helm,  Lewis,  Mon- 
roe and  others  whose  names  are  a  synonym  of  glory  and 
greatness. 

When  we  arrived  here  (Jonesboro)  in  the  great  cam- 
paign there  were  many  absent — not  without  leave,  thank 

(96) 


The  Orphan  Brigade.  97 

God,  but  with  honor,  whose  brows  had  been  crowned  with 
everlasting  wreaths  of  honor — in  death  "on  Fame's  eternal 
camping  ground."  When  the  roll  was  called  no  response 
came  from  many.  Hanson,  Helm,  Hewitt,  Graves,  Rogers, 
Dedman,  Madeira,  Daniel,  McKendrie,  Millett,  Williams, 
Innis,  Bramblett,  Bell  and  three  thousand  others  failed 
to  answer.  But  as  the  "blood  of  martyrs  is  the  seed  of 
the  church,"  so  the  sacrifice  of  these  Kentuckians  is  a 
diadem  in  the  wreath  that  encircles  her  history. 

But  now  I  stand  on  this  historic  spot  where  forty- 
eight  years  ago  the  unequal,  almost  suicidal  conflict  raged 
with  destruction  and  fury,  and  see,  in  my  mind's  eye,  the 
raging  conflict  and  hear  the  cannon's  mighty  roar,  the 
screaming  shot  and  shell  and  the  ping  and  whistle  of  the 
deadly  minnie,  the  shouts  and  yells  of  the  combatants  as 
they  grapple  in  the  deadly  conflict.  Here  I  experienced 
the  pangs  of  a  painful  wound  from  a  minnie  ball,  while 
assisting  a  dear  friend  (Lieutenant  Neal),  being  in  the 
throes  of  death,  both  he  and  the  man  on  my  left  falling 
simultaneously.  How  well  I  remember  the  look  of  anguish 
upon  his  noble  countenance  as  he  held  up  both  hands,  im- 
ploring my  assistance.  Brave,  noble  fellow  and  Christian 
gentleman,  I  trust  and  believe  his  soul  rests  in  peace 
among  the  angels. 

Imagine  my  grief  on  reaching  the  ambulance  (assisted 
by  comrades)  to  find  my  bosom  friend  (and  by  many  said 
to  be  my  double),  Ensign  Robert  H.  Lindsay  of  Scott 
County,  in  the  ambulance,  he  having  received  a  mortal 
wound  from  which  he  died  that  night  while  lying  upon 
the  same  blanket  with  myself.  The  reader  can  imagine 
my  feelings  when  the  dawn  of  morning  came  and  I  threw 
back  the  blanket  that  covered  us  and  beheld  his  noble 
countenance  cold  in  death,  with  the  fixed  glare  of  the  eyes 
that  told  me  that  my  beloved  comrade  and  friend  had 
passed  to  the  realms  of  eternal  glory.  Poor  Bob !  I  tried 
in  vain,  while  on  the  way  to  the  field  hospital,  to  extort 
a  parting  message,  a  last  farewell  to  mother  and  family, 


98  The  Orphan  Brigade. 

but  the  messenger  of  death  held  him  in  his  grasp  and 
refused  compliance  with  this  last  request  of  his  friend 
who  loved  him  as  a  brother.    A  circumstance  coincident 
with  his  death  was  the  fact  that  we  prepared  and  ate  our 
dinners  together   that  day,   meantime  talking  over  the 
probable  results  of  the  approaching  battle  and  making 
certain  requests  of  each  other  in  the  event  that  one  or 
the  other  should  fall.     Hence  my  anxiety  to  hear  a  last 
farewell  from  his  dying  lips.    Memory  takes  me  back  over 
the  intervening  years  and  I  am  tempted  to  exclaim: 
Sing  thou  music  of  the  spheres 
The  song  of  the  weeping  pines 
As  the  days  and  years  go  by, 
But  let  me,  Oh!  let  me  not  forget, 
The  dear  friend  who  'neath  them  lies. 
I  have  always  thought  this  a  singular  circumstance, 
that  the   three   friends — boon   companions — holding  the 
same  rank,  should  be  stricken  down  almost  at  the  same 
moment — that  "two  should  be  taken  and  the  one  left," 
but  such  are  the  vicissitudes  of  war. 

I  can  recognize  only  two  landmarks  of  this  historic 
spot  and  its  surroundings — the  old  stone  depot  and  the 
prominent  knoll,  occupied  by  the  enemy's  skirmishers  on 
the  morning  of  the  battle  (August  31st)  and  which  Lieut. 
Heck  Burden,  the  commander  of  that  gang  of  army 
sleuths,  that  Sherman  and  his  officers  admitted  they 
dreaded — known  as  the  Kentucky  sharpshooters — and  my- 
self, in  a  spirit  of  daring,  approached  within  easy  rifle 
range,  by  means  of  a  deep  gully,  and  which  terminated  in 
one  less  Federal  officer  reporting  to  his  commander.  1 
have  looked  upon  this  particular  spot  with  no  little  con- 
cern, for  it  was  near  this  my  two  dear  friends  just  noted 
fell,  and  where  I  also  received  my  quietus — as  a  reward, 
perhaps,  for  my  daring  of  the  morning.  This  circumstance 
(my  wounding)  precludes  the  mention  from  personal 
experience  a  description  of  the  second  day's  fight  and  in 
which  the  Orphans  sustained  the  loss  of  a  number  of  men 


The  Orphan  Brigade.  99 

and  officers  and  resulted  in  the  capture  of  the  greater 
part  of  the  survivors,  Sherman's  overwhelming  numbers 
enabling  him  to  outflank  and  overpower  the  left  of  the 
Confederate  line.  But  they  were  held  as  prisoners  but  a 
short  time  and  were  exchanged  and  returned  to  service 
almost  immediately.  Here,  as  in  other  instances,  the 
enemy  outnumbered  us  three  to  one  and  enabled  them  to 
envelop  our  flanks  more  readily  than  in  previous  engage- 
ments, the  country  being  without  the  natural  barriers  and 
obstructions  that  had  previously  favored  us  in  the  moun- 
tain section  of  the  country  through  which  we  had  passed. 
Here  at  Jonesboro  ended  my  service  to  the  Confederacy 
and  my  experience  as  a  soldier  in  the  field.  The  next  six 
months,  which  brought  the  war  to  a  close,  were  spent  by 
me  in  hospitals,  which  also  came  near  bringing  my  earthly 
career  to  a  close.  But,  thank  God,  I  am  still  here  and 
now  engaged  in  reviewing  our  movements  of  the  past. 
And  I  shall  be  happy  if  what  I  may  have  written  should 
fall  under  the  eye  of  some  old  comrade  or  friend  and 
afford  him  pleasure  or  food  for  contemplation. 


(Note — The  author  takes  the  liberty  and  desires  to 
thank  Genl.  W.  B.  Haldeman,  of  the  Orphan  Brigade,  the 
Courier- Journal  Job  Printing  Co.,  and  others,  for  their 
kind  assistance  in  the  publication  and  introduction  of  this 
little  booklet.) 


